


Diner Series

by AmberLynnWrites



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America, James Buchanan Barnes - Fandom, James “Bucky” Barnes - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers, The First Avenger - Fandom, the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Diners, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bucky, Smut, Violence, alright i caved, and Bucky - Freeform, clearly i love diners, i hope it fits, if it fits then SMUT, it sort of just happened really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberLynnWrites/pseuds/AmberLynnWrites
Summary: After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA out in the world, Bucky Barnes is on the run. He finds himself in a small town in Pennsylvania and in it a diner he likes to come to late at night. He only planned on staying here for a week, until he meets you. And he finds a few reasons to stay.





	1. Falling Asleep In Public Is Never A Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> This series is going to be short at first, with longer chapters later. And it gets angsty. And intense.

The first time he sees you you’re sitting alone.

It’s almost midnight, and Bucky Barnes is trying to figure out what brings you here. You’re at the booth across from him, in the corner, and you’re sitting alone. A cup of coffee steaming in front of you. Untouched.

He looks down at his own cup. It’s cold. It’s untouched.

Rain is pouring down from the sky, the sound almost drowning out the faint jazz music the diner is playing. Bucky glances in your direction, his blue eyes covered by the cap he’s wearing. You’re staring at your cup, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed.

The black and white scarf you wear is covering your neck. The waitress comes by, and this is the first time Bucky has seen you smile. It’s sweet, it’s beautiful, and it disappears into a line once she walks away.

He wonders what’s on your mind.

_Quit it, Bucky. You’re not here to gaze at strangers, you’re here for a damn cup of coffee. ___

____

____

Bucky turns his focus towards the window, stares out in the night as the rain pours down in this small American town. He needs to blend in. To hide. Ever since D.C., his name–or rather, the title _they _gave him–has been everywhere on the news. He has ditched the big cities–or maybe that’d be a good idea? No, this is fine. This is safe. This is under the radar.__

____

____

He’s somewhere in Pennsylvania. He came across a nice looking motel (compared to the other motels he’s been in) and decided to lay low here for a little while. Just until he has a set plan.

Plan? The word was so foreign to him.

Through the window’s reflection, he sees you shift. You’re leaning your body in the corner, eyes closed. Bucky makes a note to himself to keep his eye on you. Falling asleep in public was never a safe idea.

So, Bucky orders another cup of coffee. And another. And another. Until you finally wake up, pay your bill, and get a taxi to wherever it was you are going to.


	2. A Small Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to fall asleep, Bucky finds himself at that same diner. Again.

_It’s only been two weeks since the world has met the terrorist organization, HYDRA. Find out at 10 on how the world is coping, only on WHIH. _  
Bucky clicks the TV off and finds his reflection in the black screen.__

____

____

__It’s late and he can’t sleep. He hasn’t slept in a while, even before D.C. He can’t remember the last sleep he had. He can’t remember many things, things he should know by heart._ _

__The weight set on his shoulders grows heavier and heavier each time he remembers that he _can’t _remember.___ _

____The clock beeps 10:30 and Bucky slips on his cap, a glove on his left hand, and boots. It’s raining again. He likes the rain, which is why he decides to walk to the diner in it. It’s not heavy, it’s light. The air isn’t heavy either–damp, maybe, but not enough to keep Bucky away from that small little diner._ _ _ _

____He likes it there. He almost doesn’t want to leave town because of it. It’s small, it’s warm, it plays music that he likes–he _thinks _he likes–and it’s the best damn cup of coffee he’s had in a long, long time.___ _ _ _

______And when Bucky sees you sitting in the same booth as the last time, he thinks of another reason why he likes it so much._ _ _ _ _ _

______Opening the doors of the diner, the bell rings, and Stacy, the waitress he had last time, greets him with a smile. She’s a small blonde lady, probably in her mid fifties. She's always chewing gum._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hiya, same spot?” She perks up at Bucky as he walks in, shaking off his wet boots on the carpet._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bucky nods, “Sure,” he agrees quietly. He likes the window booth. It allows him to see what’s going on outside and inside._ _ _ _ _ _

______Stacy brings him a cup of coffee and this time, Bucky orders a chocolate chip muffin as well. He glances in your direction. You take a sip from your coffee and sigh, bringing the scarf around your neck closer to your chin. It’s the same scarf from last time, he notices. Black and white. Houndstooth pattern. Your hair is pulled back into a low bun, with two strands framing your face. You look tired, but you’re still beautiful, he thinks._ _ _ _ _ _

________This can’t become a routine. Your only focus is to lay low, to stay quiet. Stop looking at her. ____ _ _ _ _ __

________But Bucky can’t help himself. He finds himself so intrigued, so interested as to why you’re always here so late. He wants to know you._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“How are ya tonight, Miss. ___?” He hears Stacy say to you._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hmm. He likes your name. It’s fitting._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You sigh, resting your head in your hand on the table, “I’m good, Stacy. I’m good.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Stacy pours some more coffee in your cup, “Long day again?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You could say that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Let me know if you need anything else, darling,” Stacy tells her with sympathy in her voice. You smile at her and sip your coffee._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Bucky finds himself looking too long because the next moment, your eyes lock with his. But instead of looking away, you offer Bucky a small smile. Bucky’s slightly taken aback but nods before you turn your attention to the cup of coffee in front of you._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You smiled at him. Bucky felt something in his chest twinge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Maybe he could stay here for another few days… it wouldn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anyone has been on to him. What’s the rush? He likes this small town. And this diner. And he’s starting to like you, too._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Kinda Sorta Fancy Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky fears that he might be getting too comfortable here. He's never been used to comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give a little time frame here, Bucky's been in the town for about a week or so. Time has never been something he keeps. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

желание

Stop.

ржaвый

_Stop._

Sargent Barnes. You are the new face of HYDRA.

_STOP, STOP, STOP!_

Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat. Panting, he kicks the thin sheets off his legs and gets up, pacing around in the small motel room.

_Breathe, breathe._

He likes pacing. It gives him a sense of direction. Back and forth, back and forth. It's only nine o'clock at night. Bucky has lost a lot of sleep these past few days, so random naps during the day wasn't unusual. He hated trying to go back to sleep afterwards because he found that he never could. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Back and forth, back and forth. Eyes closed.

_It was just a nightmare._

But these nightmares have been occurring far too often for Bucky to like.

Bucky moves to the bathroom and switches the light on, a soft buzz coming from the florescent tube over the sink's mirror. Bucky leans on the sink, flesh hand on one side, metal the other, and stares himself down in the mirror. His blue eyes look dark. His beard is growing back. His chestnut locks remain free. His eyes trail to the burns and scars etched on the skin where metal meets flesh. They're ugly. They're loud. They're a part of him now.

_How could this have happened?_

Loosening his grip on the sink, Bucky runs the faucet and washes his face with cold water. With one last look in the mirror, Bucky switches the light off. That damn buzzing noise was annoying.

He throws on a maroon henley t-shirt and jeans. Grabbing his coat, cap, and glove, he saunters off to the only place where he doesn’t feel like such a ghost. The diner.

He walks in through the doors, the same bell ringing as he pushes in, and the smell of coffee immediately fills his senses. It’s warm, it’s inviting. It’s a distraction. Bucky does a quick scan of the diner, not quite sure what exactly it is he’s looking for.

_Oh. It’s you._

But he doesn’t find you. Stacy gives him a nod and leads him to the same booth by the window.

Still looking around, Bucky almost doesn’t hear Stacy offer coffee.

“I’m sorry? Oh, yeah. Yes, please,” Bucky stammers.

Stacy grins with an eyebrow raised, “Nah, she’s not comin’ in tonight, I don’t think.”

Bucky pauses, “What?”

“Y/N. Usually she’s in by now. And come on, don’t give me that look. I know you kinda sorta fancy her. You must like mysteries, don’t you? Quiet types,” She winks, and Bucky’s trying to compose himself.

“I, uh…”

“I never got your name, sir. And I know everybody who comes in here.”

Bucky swallows. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Fine, fine. Looks like you’re a mystery, too. Enjoy your coffee, stranger,” She quips, making herself laugh a little. Stacy walks back into the kitchen.

Bucky’s heart is pounding in his chest. He averts his eyes all across the diner, to see if anyone looks suspicious of him, but the only people here are an old man at the counter and an older couple at a table. Bucky takes a breath of relief.

Stacy’s words hang in the air around him. _I know you kinda sorta fancy her._

Bucky can’t let his emotions blind him from the big picture. He’s on the run. He can’t be in one place for too long.

After Bucky finishes his one cup of coffee, he leaves the change on the table and stalks back to the motel. When he gets back in his room he makes the decision to leave in the morning to his next destination.


	4. A Piece Of Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way out, Bucky may have found something along the way.

Warmth.

It’s what he wakes up to. Sun rays laying on his face through the blinds of the window in his small motel room. Bucky peeks an eye open then shuts it tight when the bright sunlight hits his blue iris. He groans, then shoots up in bed.

_Day time?_

Must’ve been an accidental nap. _Dammit._

The clock on the nightstand reads 3:30pm. He missed check out time. Bucky falls back on the stiff mattress, sighing heavily. Across the room, his backpack of clothes stares him down. The next check out time is 8:30pm. He’d have to wait.

Patience, it seems, was something he was good at.

~

He isn’t asleep. In fact, he’s wide awake. He’s _been_ wide awake, flipping through channels on the TV. It’s always the same stuff: cooking shows, kids’ cartoons, and the news. He avoided the news as much as he could but the cooking shows and cartoons got old very quickly.

The WHIH reporter says something about some new Stark technology that Bucky doesn’t understand. But his attention is caught when the woman talks about Captain America and how he has been high on the radar ever since becoming a false fugitive to S.H.I.E.L.D., which is now kaput.

Bucky turns the TV off and lowers his gaze to the nightstand beside him, which holds a few brochures to museums. Each of them has a Captain America exhibit. And in the fine print, it mentions a group named The Howling Commandos and a one James Buchanan Barnes.

It was all so surreal to him. And unbelievable. And _painful_.

But it’s 8:25pm. Five minutes to check out time. Five minutes to leaving this small town.

Bucky thinks he’ll miss it.

You flicker in his thoughts for a moment, but Bucky pushes it to the side.

He grabs his backpack and heads out the door towards the small office in the front of the complex. Through the glass doors he can see the old man, Stan, at the counter. He has a white button up shirt on, and that’s all Bucky can see from behind the counter, other than the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose.

“Good evening, young man,” Stan says, “how may I help you tonight?”

Bucky offers a polite smile, “Just checking out.”

“Checking out already, sonny? Well, I guess it’s been a good two weeks. But you’re always welcome back if you ever need a place to stay,” Stan tells Bucky. Bucky nods his head and then something glistening in the dim lights catches his eyes. It’s a golden pin; a pin that tugs at Bucky’s mind.

“Is that a–is that a World War Two veteran pin? Are you a vet?” Bucky asks in disbelief.

Stan lets out a loud laugh, a hearty smile on his lips. “No, but my father was. I wear this to honor him, may he rest in peace,” Stan explains. Bucky feels a little silly, of course Stan wasn’t a vet. He’d be very old to run this motel. But Stan continues, “Yeah, growing up in the war–what times were those. I’d hear all about my father’s adventures.”

Stan stamps something and slides it across to Bucky. The motel receipt.

“Do you happen to know what infantry?” Bucky asks. His curiosity got the best of him.

“Of course. The 107th.”

A chill runs through Bucky’s entire body. He has so many questions, so much to relearn about his past, and here was someone who was tied to it in a way. Bucky shakes off his shock and nods, “Wow, that’s–wow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan doesn’t seem to notice Bucky’s reaction, “the infamous infantry that Captain America saved over hundreds of men. Crazy, right? Had it not been for Captain Steve Rogers, my father might not have made it,” Stan says, “God bless him.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Bucky trails off, “well, if your father were here today, I would thank him for his service.”

“Thank you, sonny. I wish you luck with whatever it is you’re doing.”

With a final nod, Bucky leaves the motel. He can’t shake off the feeling like he left something there. Or maybe the feeling that he found a piece of himself.


	5. Let's Just Call It 'Soul Searching'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes back to the diner for one last cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit trouble writing this chapter, but here it is anyways. Let me know what you think :) Enjoy!

Time is something Bucky has never kept. Time is something that was taken from him. Time is something he neither values nor ignores. If he deems it important, he’ll pay attention to it. If he’s letting himself fall into a nap, he doesn’t care. 

This is one of those times he cares about it. Because the bus was supposed to be here at nine o’clock. It’s half past nine, and the ticket master in the booth at the bus stop tells Bucky now that his bus is delayed an hour and a half. 

_Great._

__In the distance, the red glow of the diner catches his eyes. Bucky sighs as he stares at it longingly. He can almost smell the freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air…_ _

__… and suddenly Bucky is walking to the diner. Gripping the strap of his backpack tightly, gloved hand in his jacket pocket, Bucky calms his breathing. He’s anxious. He doesn’t know why._ _

__Or maybe he does at the small, hopeful thought that you might be there tonight._ _

__~_ _

__Before he enters the diner, he peeks through the glass windows. As usual, it’s a small crowd tonight. Stacy is waiting at the door for another customer to come in. Another waiter comes out of the kitchen with two plates in his hands._ _

__He doesn’t see you._ _

__Bucky takes a deep breath and goes to the entrance, the familiar sound of the bells calming his nerves a bit. He’s disappointed that you’re not here, but shaking off the feeling, he smiles a little as Stacy greets him._ _

__There’s a glint in her eyes. One he can’t quite call but it’s there anyways._ _

__“Evenin’, stranger. You can follow me to your usual spot or…,” Stacy trails off and nods her head behind her towards the counter. There’s only person sitting at the counter, and there’s only one person that Bucky concludes to who it is._ _

__Your hair is down as he can see, and you’re wearing a jacket with a color similar to his. Your legs are crossed in front of you as you sit on the teal cushioned stool._ _

__Stacy waits for a decision. Bucky looks at her again and dips his head, going the opposite of where he usually goes and walks to the counter._ _

__“Enjoy,” He hears her say quietly._ _

__Bucky wants to stop himself. He shouldn’t be sitting near you. He shouldn’t want to be near you. But he doesn’t stop himself. Because if he really wanted to, he would. Because Bucky Barnes is in control of himself._ _

__Where linoleum tiles meet carpet, Bucky glides his boots on the floor and sits two seats down from you. He glances at you once, but your gaze is kept at the milkshake in front of you. Strawberry. Bucky swallows hard as he pretends to look at the menu set in front of him._ _

__Stacy walks behind the counter and Bucky looks up at her. She smiles deceivingly and Bucky shoots her a knowing glare._ _

__“So, what can I get for ya, stranger?” Stacy quips anyways. Bucky licks his lips and looks down at the menu._ _

__“Just a cup of coffee,” Bucky says with an even voice. Stacy puts a hand on her hip and raises her eyebrows._ _

__“Ya always get coffee, dontcha want to try somethin’ else?” Stacy asks. Bucky’s at a loss for words; he knows what she’s trying to do. He doesn’t know if he appreciates it or not._ _

__Until she brings you into it._ _

__“___, aren’t the milkshakes here delicious?” Stacy asks you. Bucky turns to look at you. His heart is pounding against his chest._ _

__You look up at her with wide eyes, and then you look at Bucky. Your eyes lock with his and Bucky freezes like a deer in headlights._ _

__“The shakes are amazing here,” You tell him._ _

__Your voice is soft, angelic almost to Bucky, and he presses his lips together, turning his attention back to Stacy._ _

__“Okay, then I’ll have a vanilla milkshake,” Bucky tells Stacy. She winks,_ _

__“Coming right up.”_ _

__Stacy leaves the counter, leaving only Bucky and you at the counter. Bucky hears you sip your milkshake. He’s forcing his eyes to keep from looking at you._ _

__“They really are good,” You say to him, and Bucky’s attention snaps back to you, “The milkshakes. I mean, for this place, at least. Just the right consistency,” You say with a faint smile. You sip your milkshake and Bucky just nods._ _

__“I’m ___,” You hold out your hand and Bucky takes it with his flesh hand, a strong, but quick handshake._ _

__“James.”_ _

__It slips out._ _

___Anyone’s name can be James. Calm down. She’s not a threat._ _ _

____“James,” You repeat, and Bucky’s heart flutters at the sound of his name on your lips. “You traveling?” You refer to the backpack on his back. He slips it off in response, setting it in front of his stool._ _ _ _

____“I guess,” Bucky says, starting to become a bit more relaxed._ _ _ _

____You smile, and Bucky thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen, “You guess?”_ _ _ _

____“Well,” Bucky smiles in return. It’s natural. It’s not forced. He continues, adjusting his cap so you can see his eyes more, “well, let’s just call it ‘soul searching’.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm. That sounds deep.”_ _ _ _

_____You have no idea._ _ _ _ _

______“Where are you from, James?” You ask him._ _ _ _ _ _

______Stacy comes back with a vanilla milkshake in her hand, setting in front of Bucky. She already knows that her work here is done as Bucky gives her a nod._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Brooklyn,” Bucky says without hesitation. You light up at this and turn your body to face Bucky, your milkshake in your right hand._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No way! I’m–I’m from Manhattan,” You tell him. Bucky notices your scarf again and smiles to himself, meeting your eyes._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What brings you out here?” Bucky asks you. You sigh as you fiddle with your scarf,_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just work. I haven’t been to New York in two years,” Your eyes look down at your lap, a hint of sadness in your voice. Bucky nods in understanding,_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I haven’t been back in a while, either.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“What’s keeping you from going back?” You meet his eyes again and Bucky holds your gaze for a moment. You’re beautiful. Bucky thanks Stacy in the back of his mind._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Uncertainty if what I know is still there or not,” Bucky says truthfully. He hadn’t made that conclusion until you asked him. He wonders what else he can find answers to._ _ _ _ _ _

______You blink and nod,_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You know? I know exactly what you mean.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Time passes. He can only tell by the second and third milkshake you both order. Bucky’s sure he’s missed his bus by now talking to you._ _ _ _ _ _

______That’s okay. He’s okay with it. Because he knows he’ll have a place to stay at that motel. And he knows that he has a reason to stay a bit longer in this town. It’s not the coffee, and it’s most definitely not the milkshakes–it’s you._ _ _ _ _ _


	6. What Do You Love About Diners?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, it's not a quiet night at the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't confusing, as I switch POVs quite a bit. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :)

It’s late again, and you’re here at the only place you feel safe in. The diner. 

Without saying a word, Stacy drops a strawberry milkshake on your table in front of you. Looking up at her with question, she waves a hand, 

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house, sweetie.” You silently thank her with a smile as she walks away to wait another table. 

Back to your thoughts. Back to sitting alone. 

Looking at the milkshake, James comes to mind. 

You had enjoyed talking to him last night. Your random spark of extroversion surprised you, but you ran with it. It had been a while since you struck up a conversation with anyone, let alone a mysterious man like James was. You had your guard up, and you could tell he did too, but by the end of the night, James felt less like a stranger and more like an acquaintance. One that you connected with, in some oddly familiar way. 

You wondered if he left town already. You forgot to ask where he was going to. 

Well, wherever he was off to, you knew it was better than being stuck here. 

Fiddling with the strings on your black and white scarf, you sip on your milkshake, imagining being able to just _leave_ this town like James did. God, to be free. To be exploring America with nothing but a bus ticket and a backpack. 

To go back home. 

It makes you sad.

But your attention is pulled away by the sounds of the door’s bells ringing. You look over, and your heart nearly stops at the person you see. 

It’s James. 

Hesitantly, yet naturally, you wave for him to sit with you. _What are you doing?!_

But you don’t care. This diner is the only place where you feel in control. And when James makes his way over to you, the argumentative voice in your head fades away. 

“I thought you were leaving town last night,” you say with a smile. James sighs and sits across from you in the booth, 

“Me too but uh… things are just delayed right now. I don’t mind, though. I have time.” 

“It must be nice being able to just go off from town to town. City to city,” You say, stirring your spoon in your milkshake. 

“It’s not that easy,” James says. You look up in question but he quickly finishes his thought, “y’know, with bus fares and stuff.” 

“Hmm, you’re right. I guess what I meant was, it must be nice to be a stranger in each town. Like, you don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t have to really talk to anyone. You just… observe. Like you’re watching the world through a different pair of lens,” you let your thoughts trail, but James doesn’t seem to mind. He’s looking at you intently, like he’s trying to find meaning behind your words. 

“I never–I never thought of it that way,” he says in a low voice. You take in his appearance–he certainly looks like a traveler of some sort with a rugged dark brown jacket and black cap on his head, even though it’s dark out. You notice he wears a single glove on his left hand, while his right hand stays bare. He didn’t bring his backpack with him. 

“Take off your hat,” You say in a non-demanding tone of voice. It’s more like encouragement, “don’t be a stranger around here,” you smile. 

James quickly looks around the diner before tentatively taking his cap off. And when he does, he becomes an entirely new person to you. 

Before, you could only see a shadow of his face. But now? You see every detail. You see he has chestnut brown hair that almost reaches his shoulders. He has a strong jaw line and chiseled features. And–and _his eyes_ –they’re the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. They remind you of an ocean after a storm. The calm. Or maybe James is the first person who has made you feel at ease in a long, long time, and that’s why you see them that way. 

James must’ve noticed your look of captivation and suddenly grows worried. 

“What–what is it?” 

“Nothing,” You say quickly, “I just didn’t really see your face under the cap. See? Strangers no more.” 

He relaxes at your words. You brush off his slight paranoia; he simply just caught you admiring his _fucking gorgeous face_. 

Stacy comes over to greet James. He orders a cup of coffee. 

“Let’s play a game,” you suggest with a smile, “Questions. I ask you a question, and then you ask me a question.” 

James raises an eyebrow, “About…?” 

“About anything. Okay, I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?” 

He thinks about it for a moment, and you find that adorable. 

“Blue.” 

“Okay, now your turn,” You say. 

He looks around the diner thinking, before he asks, “What’s _your_ favorite color?” 

You laugh and he smiles. You feel your heart flutter. 

“Purple,” You say, “purple is my favorite color.”

~ 

The questions begin simple. Bucky likes this game. He’s learning about you, and he learning about himself. Some answers just come to him and he blurts them out without hesitation. In a way, he’s learning about himself through you. 

“What do you love about diners?” Bucky asks. He watches you think for a moment. 

“I love the anonymity of them. For some reason, I’ve always just loved diners. They’re cozy. You can be here alone and no one will judge you… yeah. I’ve always felt safe in them, I guess,” you tell him. Bucky likes what you say. 

“The anonymity. It’s kind of like traveling alone, I bet. Like you are,” You continue. Bucky’s heart aches at that. 

“Yeah. Your turn,” Bucky says. 

“What do you love about Brooklyn?” You ask the question so genuinely, Bucky’s heart aches even more. 

“I… love everything about Brooklyn. I grew up there, met my best friend there, my family was–was there.” 

You don’t press him to say more. Bucky appreciates that. Instead, you nod. 

“What do you miss about Manhattan?” 

You look away from his eyes, “my family,” you say quietly. 

Bucky doesn’t press. Instead, he sips his coffee. 

~ 

“What’s your biggest fear?” You ask him. 

Now, that’s a question that stumps him. Does living your biggest fear count as your biggest fear, Bucky asks himself? 

Well, Bucky’s overcome the fear of not being in control. He feels more in control of his life than he ever has before. Bucky settles on another thought. 

 

“Not being able to remember important things. Memories. Things that should be like the back of your hand… that’s what I fear,” Bucky says. You’re silent, taking in his words. 

 

“What’s so special about that scarf that you wear so often?” 

 

  
_There’s absolutely nothing special about it._  


 

His question is innocent. You answer it quickly. 

 

“I like the pattern. It keeps me warm.” 

 

 

“What do you find the most beautiful thing to be?” Bucky asks. At this point, he’s so interested in your views on the world. 

 

“Connecting with people. Family, friends… strangers. It’s beautiful to remember that we’re all on this planet together, with our own lives, and it’s nice to connect and relish in the fact that we can all be here for each other, you know?” 

If you were to ask Bucky this, he would know his answer in an instant. 

 

~ 

 

It’s nearly one in the morning. You and James have put the questions game to rest, knowing a lot more about each other than you did before. 

 

He’s quiet, you observe, and he seems to think about his answers before saying them, like he wants to get it right. You feel as though there’s more to his story. 

 

It’s one. You have just _one_ more question. James seems to notice your internal struggle. 

 

“You okay?” He asks. 

 

“Yeah, I just–can I ask you one more thing?” 

 

He nods almost instantly, “of course.” 

 

You bite your bottom lip and gesture to his gloved hand, “why do you only wear a glove on your left hand?” 

 

James freezes for a quick moment, before his left hand is in a fist. You flinch. 

 

He notices. 

“I–have scars,” James says slowly. Your heart feels heavy hearing this, “I was in the army for a bit. Came back with my left hand a little messed up,” he explains. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You tell him, the feeling of guilt growing in your chest. 

“No, no it’s okay. I figured someone would ask at some point,” he smiles softly. 

James had this strong yet sweet demeanor to him. He was a big man you noticed–there had to be muscle under all those layers, and now that you know he was in the army that thought had almost been confirmed. He’s bashful, quiet, strong, and you like him. 

You like him a lot, and it’s only been a few hours. Though talking to James you feel a connection you haven’t felt in a while. You feel, dare you even _think_ it, safe for some reason. His nature is soft. You needed that right now. 

You smile in return, exhaustion setting in. 

You needed to be home soon. Before… 

“You look tired,” James says. You don’t take it as a jab by the way he says it. He sounds concerned. 

“I am,” you blink your eyes slowly, “I should probably call a cab soon,” you say with a yawn. 

He opens his mouth as if he has more to say but he doesn’t. 

After calling a cab and waiting with James in the booth, you both come to the silent realization that neither of you asked the other why it was they were here so late at night, and so often at that. But neither of you make the effort to ask. 

Instead, you just enjoy the fact that you both are here and this diner has given you each not a stranger, not an acquaintance, but a friend. 


	7. Maybe It's The People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky thinks there is more than what you're telling him.

“So, James. You’re a free man. What’s a free man _still_ doing out here in this dainty town?” You smile, stirring your spoon in your coffee. Bucky scoffs at what you call him, but you don’t understand why, and he knows that. 

“I just…,” Bucky trails off. _I just like you? I want to know more about you, even though I’ve spent every single night that I’ve been here with you? But I know that I can’t._

“I just like taking my time. Taking in everything.”

“I still don’t understand. There’s not much to see or to take in.” You look around, gesturing to what surrounds the two of you in the diner. But he knows you mean more than just here.

“Well,” Bucky leans his elbows on the table. A sugar caddy rattles and Bucky lifts his left arm up slightly, “Then maybe it’s the people.”

You blush, fighting a smile on your lips. You avoid his gaze. Bucky scolds himself.

It’s gotten easier for him to be here. Small bits of himself are coming back. The ladies man and people pleaser James Buchanan Barnes he read about in the town’s local library shines through every once in a while. Or maybe it’s just you that brings it out in him. Maybe he just likes seeing you smile.

“Ah,” You meet his eyes again. Bucky sits back, “I see.” You say.

Except, every time he catches himself flirting, his heart feels ten times heavier in chest. Because he knows he could never have you. And if you knew the truth about him, he knows you would hate him.

Besides, he shouldn’t be in this town still. He needs to leave soon.

“Why don’t you go back to Manhattan?” Bucky asks suddenly. You’ve stopped stirring your coffee mindlessly. But you’re not afraid of his question.

“I want to. I should,” you scoff, “I should just fucking pack my bags and leave this town tonight.”

“Why don’t you?”

You lock eyes with him. Maybe he’s gone too far.

“It’s not that I don’t know that there is more for me out there,” You start, “I know I could go back. I could be there right now. But–it’s complicated,” You trail off. Bucky sees in your expression how difficult it is for you to talk about. He doesn’t know why.

He knows you don’t tell him everything, and he understands that. After all, it’s only been a few weeks. And on the rare occasion Bucky does ask about your life, you keep it short. You wave it off.

Sort of like how he does when you ask him about his life.

_You would hate me._

“I was never planning on leaving New York,” You avoid his gaze, “I’m only twenty-three. I left two years ago. It’s only been _two fucking years_. I could still go back but I’m scared to. Or maybe I’m just scared to leave here.”

“Why?” His voice is above a whisper. The more silence passes, the more concerned Bucky grows. Stacy comes over to check up on “you two love birds” but even she gets the message when Bucky waves her off politely.

“Have you ever felt you’re not in control of your own life? And you know you should be. You could easily just walk out of whatever situation you’re in but you find you can’t because you’re either scared or you just… you’re not prepared. That, or someone makes you feel like if you did, it’s your fault. Which doesn’t even make sense,” You’re struggling with your words. Bucky sees that. But he also sees you’re struggling with something else. He may not know your backstory, but he feels he knows what you’re talking about.

To be controlled. To be scared. _Who’s controlling you? Who are you scared of?_

“So. Maybe it _is_ the people that keep me from going. But I shouldn’t even give a shit about them anyways, because _they’re_ the reason why I’m still here. But I’m scared. I’m just confused on what to do. It’s like no matter what, whatever decision I make, I don’t know what will happen,” your voice cracks as you furrow your eyebrows and drop the spoon into your cup of coffee. The sound startles you both. You’re breathing heavily, avoiding eye contact with him.

Bucky’s never seen you like this. Your usual casual, relaxed, happy self is not here tonight. No, you’re mad. You’re frustrated. You’re… scared. Bucky can tell.

He reaches over and grabs your hand. You almost flinch at the movement, but when you see that Bucky has his hand over yours, you relax.

“Don’t think about the outcome. Don’t think about other people. What do you want to do?” Bucky asks softly.

“I want to go home. To Manhattan,” You say it so helplessly. Bucky’s gazing into your eyes, trying to read them, trying to figure out what you are trying to say but he can’t quite come to a conclusion. His grip on your hand tightens.

He’s here for you.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Bucky narrows his eyes. You’re shaking. It’s killing him that he doesn’t know why.

Your gaze falls to his hand on yours. It feels warm. It feels safe.

“I just feel like I don’t have anyone here to support me,” your voice is barely above a whisper. A pang is sent to Bucky’s heart.

“You have me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be all in the Reader's POV, her story, it all will come together and why she is also here in this small town! Any comments are appreciated, questions, anything :) I hope you liked this chapter!


	8. This City Has Made You A Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why you're in this town. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Fictional drug use, like a fake drug from the comics, violence briefly described, abusive relationship (mental and physical, but no graphic descriptions). This was a tough chapter to write, and if I do anything wrong, PLEASE let me know! But anyways, I hope this satisfies your wonder of who the Reader character is, and what her story is. Enjoy :)

You love this diner. 

It’s warm. It plays jazz music, even though it’s hard to hear most of the time. Stacy reminds you of someone, though you can’t quite pin who exactly. You like to talk to her. She’s kind. She’s friendly. She’s the only person here, in this _town_ , who you have talked to. Seeing different people here every night gives you a strange sense of home. It reminds you of the mysterious air of Manhattan; each person you come across you know they have their own life, own happiness, own struggles. You’ve felt a connection with almost every stranger you’ve come across.

You miss that about New York City. You miss being able to just feel a connection with a stranger, without even having to talk to them.

You even miss the assholes you’d come across. Cutting you off as you’re walking, taking the last seat on the subway when you _know_ you had claimed it before them (in your mind). You miss struggling to get in line early at your favorite bagel place downtown because they made the absolute _best_ bagels.

You miss being able to feel everything. In this town, you don’t feel anything. You feel empty. You feel helpless. You feel alone, because you are.

And it’s because of him.

~

_Graduation Party, April 2012_

“Let’s here it for the class of 2012!” The photographer shouts from behind the camera. On cue, the entire New York University Class of 2012 screams with joy, with pride, with true independence. You throw your purple cap up into the air and hug your friends as the photo is snapped, soon to grace the papers of The New York Times, The Daily Bugle, and New York Bulletin.

“Let’s get it, ladies! I’ve got med school, Jana’s already got an interview with Stark Industries, and ___ is writing for The New York Times,” Maggie says as she raises her champagne glass to clink with yours and Jana’s. You smile, holding a finger out,

“Not _yet_. It’s just an internship for now,” You reply, sipping on the bubbly beverage. Being 21, freshly graduated felt so good.

"Oh come on, ___, you’re an _amazing_ writer. If _The New York Times’_ editor offered you the internship, they clearly want you to write for their paper! Your piece on the Avengers that was published in NYU’s paper was too good,” Jana says, and you blush.

“Well, let’s see. I’m very optimistic,” You quirk an eyebrow, taking another sip. You’re in a lavender dress that reaches just above your knees, and black heels to match. This graduation party was swarming with fresh NYU grads. You’ve never felt more in place, more confident, more excited than you do now.

Across the rooftop you see your mother and little sister, Maisie, chatting with Jana’s parents. Excusing yourself, you make your way to your mom and Maisie.

“There’s my beautiful graduate,” Your mom smiles, opening her arms for a hug. You squeeze your mom tight,

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help, mom.” She gives you a warm smile, before Maisie tugs on your hand. You crouch down to her height and she immediately attacks you in the warmest and tightest hug ever.

“My big sister’s all grown up!” She exclaims, “I can’t wait til I’m just like you one day.”

This almost brings tears to your eyes. You and Maisie were really close, despite having such a big age difference. She’s only six years old, but she’s more than just a sister to you. She’s your best friend. And she looks at you like you’re her entire world.

“You’ll be better,” You smile as she pulls back. Standing back up you speak to Jana’s parents for a bit, discussing your future plans. They gush over how much you, Jana, and Maggie all together have accomplished over the past four years. Four years you’ll hold close to your heart forever.

“Hey, ___!” A loud voice calls your name. Already knowing who it is, you sigh, rolling your eyes, though a smile spreads across your lips.

“Braden,” You breathe out, “Y’know, I’m actually surprised you graduated,” You tease. He brings you into a bear hug, one you accept gracefully. His fluffy blonde hair tickles your neck as he holds you tight.

“Alright, alright. I _may_ have skipped my classes more than I should’ve but. C’s get degrees, am I right?” He jokes, pulling back.

“I’m only kidding,” You reply, “Congrats, grad. So what’s next for you?”

“Oh, you know. Just starting my job with the New York _Yankees_ on Monday.”

“Braden! That’s amazing!” You give him another hug, “I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you, ___. You better keep in touch! Miss. New York Times,” Braden smiles, his blue eyes glistening against the rooftop string lights.

Looking out over the island of Manhattan, you gaze at the lights of buildings just turning on due to the sky turning from pinks and oranges to a deep blue. The party has died down. Your mom and Maisie left a bit ago, leaving mostly the grads to party. It was an eventful day, exhausting, but you couldn’t feel more satisfied.

Down below, the cars and taxis that run across the streets of New York City look so, so tiny. Like you could pick them up with your fingers and it’d fit in your hand like a toy. You imagine the world being at your fingertips now.

In the distance, the glow of the newly built Avengers tower is seen. The giant A is hard to miss, as are the crowds that gather at the foot of the door to take a picture in front of it to post on their social media. In a way, you have to thank that alien invasion and the Avengers themselves for giving you something good to write about, being in the midst of it all with your fellow students and well, the entirety of Manhattan.

The city was still recovering from the Incident, but Manhattan was tough. New York City was tough, and this place that you were born and raised in has shaped you in so many ways. This city has made you a fighter.

“Excuse me?” A voice calls. Your thoughts are interrupted by a stranger coming from behind you. When you turn around to greet them, you freeze in place.

It’s a man. Not much older than you are, you think, but God, is he handsome. Dirty blonde hair, cleft chin, brown eyes. He’s in a suit, grey you pick up. He doesn’t look like anyone you know from NYU, not even from a different graduating class.

“Hi,” You say, “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, I just–Are you ___ ___?” He asks.

You quirk an eyebrow, “Yeah. Yes, I am. And you are?”

“I’m sorry. My name is Nathaniel Graves. Nathan. Nate. Whichever you prefer,” Nathan smiles, and he’s got a dazzling one at that. You don’t know his intentions, and you’re not a patient girl who likes to waste her time.

“Hi. So what is it you want?” You ask, hand on your hip.

He squints his eyes, that same smile still on his lips, “I just wanted to tell you that your articles are amazing. So well written and so articulate, you made me feel like I was actually there, seeing the Incident happen itself,” He says.

“Thank you,” You reply, letting your guard down a little with a smile, “Are you not from New York?”

“No, actually. I’m from Pennsylvania, but I come to New York for trips.”

“Trips?”

“Business. I work for AIM. Advanced Idea Mechanics. We’re a bit smaller than our competition but still up there,” he explains. You nod your head, familiar of the company.

“Ah, I know. Competition as in Stark Industries?”

Nathan tightens his smile, “Yes, as in Stark Industries.”

“Well, what brings you to an NYU grad party, Nathan?” You ask, curious if he knows anyone you know.

“My company and I usually come to these looking for any NYU grads that are interested in interning or a job.” Nathan explains.

“I’m not an engineer,” You reply.

“That’s not what I’m asking you,” He smiles a little.

“Then what are you asking me?” Squinting your eyes, you smirk.

“Dinner?”

~

And that’s how it began.

In the beginning, it was simple. He was charming, successful at the ripe age of twenty-five, and he seemed so _right_. It was hard to explain. He was mesmerizing. You hadn’t felt like that in a while.

Not love. But a strange infatuation. 

 _I never loved him_. 

~

_July, Later that Year_

“I don’t have anyone. My parents died when I was young. I’ve been on my own most of my life,” Nathan tells you one night as you lay in his temporary apartment in downtown Manhattan.

“Hmm. Well, look at you now,” You say, running a hand up his chest.

He looks at you, his brown eyes deep and hard to read, “I know. Did everything on my own. AIM found me, Aldrich, really, and I’ve been okay so far.”

“I think so.”

~

Nathan’s angry. He’s proved more than once that he is capable and _ready_ and mostly deserving of Extremis.

“It’s not ready,” Maya argues, “You can’t take it.”

“Not only that,” Aldrich Killian chirps, “You’re not qualified.”

“I have gotten so many kicks for this business. More than anyone ever has. I know you’re lying to me, I know it’s ready. I’ve seen you after hours in the office. Skin glowing orange. I know it’s ready.” Nathan argues, slamming his fist on the table. Maya jumps. Aldrich doesn’t flinch.

“You have the rest of the day off,” Aldrich says. It’s a demand, not an offer.

_Later_

Finally finishing a small column for the New York Times, you slip the finished product on your editor’s desk. He smiles, dismissing you silently, as he always does.

You’re beaming.

You’re so close to landing an _actual position_ here, you can almost feel it. Slipping your keys into Nathan’s door, you let yourself in, eager to pour yourself a glass of rose. After much, _much_ convincing, you agreed to moving into Nathan’s temporary apartment. It was close to the New York Times office anyways, and Nathan was insistent.

Surprised, you see him sitting on the couch. You weren’t expecting to see him, so you greet him with a hello.

“How was your day, Nate? Haven’t seen you in a while, this is nice,” You say. He’s on his computer, typing away at something. He doesn’t reply. You figure he’s too focused on some engineer type stuff.

Reaching for the bottle of rose, you grab a wine glass and pour the pink liquid in the crystal glass.

“My day was amazing. You know, I really think I’m going to get a position on board. I already told my mom and Maisie, they are so excited.”

No reply.

Sipping the rose, you roll your eyes, “Earth to Nathan?”

Nathan quietly shuts his laptop. He’s in a white tee shirt and sweatpants, unusual for him during the afternoon, at least. He walks over to you and you think he’s going to embrace you in a hug, but instead, he reaches for the bottle of rose and throws it against the brick wall, the bottle shattering into a million pieces.

“What the hell?!” You shout, “What the–“

He grabs the wine glass out of your hand and smashes it on the floor, flicks of crystal glass grazing your feet. Shocked, and scared, you back up against the wall, away from Nathan. You didn’t know where this was coming from, but you didn’t like it.

Nathan goes to his room, _your room_ , and locks himself in.

You don’t speak to him for three weeks. As far as you know, you are never going to see Nathaniel Graves ever again.

~

It’s a quiet night at the AIM office in Manhattan. Aldrich has left for the night, Maya leaving in a bit. A few other employees occupy different levels of the building, but none of them occupy the lab. The lab in which the Extremis is held.

Slipping his key card in the elevator, Nathaniel enters, clicking the level of the lab. The _wooshing_ of the elevator is the only sound he hears. The only thing he sees in his mind is the Extremis liquid.

The doors open. The lab is dark, cold. No one has been up here because the Extremis is _done_ as he presumed. Finished before the argument he had with Aldrich. And finally, it’s in his reach.

It sits behind a glass case that he is able to pry open with a screwdriver. _AIM_ , he scoffs. _No wonder we’re falling behind Stark._

And finally, Nathan has the Extremis in his hand. In his grasp. It feels good. _Fuck you, Aldrich. I deserve this._

He doesn’t hesitate in rolling up his sleeve and shooting the liquid inside him. For a second, he feels normal. And then the next second, his entire body is burning up. Heat filling his veins, his entire _being_ , it’s too much. Nathan falls to the ground, unable to move from how hot it is, and then in a split second, he’s fine. He’s okay.

He jumps up. He feels lighter. Grabbing a hand mirror off the desk, he looks at himself.

His skin. _It’s glowing orange._

The first thing he does is go to your door step.

~

There was something different about Nathaniel that night, you thought. He was glowing, but you couldn’t see anything different about him physically. He brought flowers to you, explained the entire thing, why he lashed out. You wanted to understand. You didn’t, because there is no excuse for behavior like that. You turned him down.

 _“Fuck off, and go to an anger management class_.”

But it didn’t stop there. He kept sending you fruit arrangements, flowers, anything. Really, he didn’t do anything to _you,_ you supposed. But that didn’t mean he _wouldn’t_ in the future. But still, were you going to hold one day against him? That day, you wouldn’t let define him. So, you went back to him.

And it was the worst decision you could have made.

You came across the weird orange liquid one day in the apartment. When you questioned him about it, he said it was safe. It wasn’t a prototype. It was _meant_ for him, and the way he said it to you sent chills down your spine.

When you decided to leave again, because you didn’t want to deal with his _bullshit AIM drugs_ , he hit you so hard you blacked out.

And when you woke up, you were in another state. Another house.

Not Manhattan.

“I already took care of your job, your mom and Maisie. Don’t worry, they know you live here now. I’ll be going back to New York for trips and such but this is our home now.”

“That’s impossible, you don’t have my consent. They’re probably looking for me right now. I would never leave Manhattan like that–“

He drops a slip of paper in front of you. It’s your handwriting, though you don’t know how. Your signature at the bottom. You can’t read the letter he wrote saying that you agreed to go with him, leave your job, and move to Pennsylvania with him, never to see them again.

It’s been like this for too long.

The hitting didn’t stop. You’ve had to wear a scarf now to cover the marks he left. His reasoning must be behind the drugs, but also, you felt like it was always in him. Even when he didn’t have the bullshit Extremis in him, he was violent–the rose proved that. AIM, you decided, was evil. You always preferred Stark Industries.

“You’re mine. Extremis is mine. AIM will be mine,” He says to you one night as you patch your cuts. You’re shaking, bleeding, focusing on your eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

 _You can’t lose yourself_. _Manhattan has made you a fighter_.

~

So, you like this diner. It reminds you of home.

The strangers you see in this diner remind you of the strangers back in Manhattan. The strangers you’d write about in your columns for the NYU newspaper. The music reminds you of the faint music you’d hear in the streets.

Seeing James across from you reminds you of the freedom you once had. Traveling (mostly Manhattan) and not caring. _Writing_.

And when James said those words to you,

“ _You have me_.”

You break down in a heart wrenching sob as it all hits you at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Nathaniel Graves off of what I think an employee of AIM would be like (one that's power hungry) and a bit of Kilgrave, with the controlling/abusive aspects and (yes, the last name). What I came out with is nothing like what I had in mind, but I think this is much better. If not, let me know! Comments, questions, anything is appreciated :)


	9. You Have Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You refuse help, but James isn't going anywhere.

_“You have me_.” 

His words stung you in the most shocking way. For months you’ve been alone, for months you have had no one but yourself, and for months you believed that no one could help you. But as James sits in the booth across from you, looking at you like he would go through hell with you, you cry.

And as you look at his hand in yours, you are reminded that no one has touched you in such a gentle way as he is doing right now. It’s calming, it’s soothing, but it’s overwhelming. Because James still does not know the reason behind your tears.

“___,” His voice sounds raspy and low. You look at him with wet eyes and his hold on your hand tightens, “I need you to talk to me so I can help you.”

He’s right. You need to tell him, and you want to, but part of you does not want to bring him into your mess of a life. He has nothing to owe you and you wouldn’t be doing anything other than causing him problems that he doesn’t need. You shake your head, zipping up your coat and adjusting your scarf quickly before getting up from the booth.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Before James can stop you, you’re already half way to the exit of the diner. The bells ring behind you, sounding like a faint echo by the time you’ve reached the sidewalk.

The pavement glistens from the rain that just ended shortly before. It’s cold. You shiver as you make your way to the pay phone, struggling to find a quarter in your pocket. Your tears feel cold against your cheeks and you grow more and more frustrated as you can’t find a damn quarter in the pocket of your jacket. Your movements become more frustrated and rushed and you let out the breath you’ve been holding in.

When you’ve come to the conclusion that you are out of coins, you lean your head against the cool metal of the pay phone and cry, letting your tears fall to the ground to join the puddle of water at your feet.

“___,” It’s James and God, you wish he’d go away. You can’t bring James into your mess of a life but he _genuinely wants to help you_ and that makes you cry even more. He’s making it so hard for you to refuse his help but when he says your name again, you lash out.

“Go away!” You say, eyes still glued on the ground in front of you. You hear James step closer to you and you turn around, eyes still teary and voice shaky.

“I can’t let you help me. I can’t bring you into this,” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper as it cracks. His cap is off now, you notice, and his gloved hand remains in a fist. The image startles you, but seeing the look in his eyes, you know he means absolutely no harm.

“Please,” James says one more time, but you shake your head and look away.

“I don’t want to bring you into my mess of a life. Just please make this easier for me, James, and walk away. I am doing you a favor,” you’re desperate now, giving him one more chance to drop whatever hold he has on you but he scoffs, his deep stormy blue eyes never leaving yours.

“I know a few things about messes. Messed up and fucked up things but none of that will hold me back from you. Please,” James lets out a harsh breath. He’s not giving up on you. “Please, let me help.”

Something in you falls gently. You feel it in your heart as you step towards him, trying to find any look of uncertainty or dishonesty in his eyes, but you find none. What you find is fierce determination in James’ eyes. You see shelter, you see shielding, you see that this man will do whatever it takes to make you understand that you don’t have to run away from help. You don’t have to run away from him. Because he’s made it clear that he is not going anywhere.

The soft sounds of the night are the only things that fill the silence between you and him. You’ve fallen asleep to those sounds very often.

Slowly, you undo your scarf. You see it in his face that he is confused by your actions but once your scarf is unwound from your neck, James’ face falls, and he looks at you as if you have just cut deeply into him slowly with a burning hot blade.

Even in the soft glow of the street light above the two of you, you know James can see the dark marks of bruises on your neck. You’re shaking as you drop the scarf on the pavement. James opens his mouth to say something. He looks angry. He looks like he may impale the phone booth behind you into the street. But when he sees the look on your face, he softens.

“Who does this to you?” James asks in a steady voice. You look away from him,

“This guy. Nathaniel. I can’t explain it right now.”

“You don’t have to,” James’ response is almost immediate, “___, look at me.”

You meet his eyes. He’s looking hard into yours and he says his next few words very carefully.

“This isn’t your fault. I’m going to help you. Take me to your place. Do you know if he is there now?”

You think about the time. Lately, Nathaniel hasn’t been going to the New York office of AIM, only Philadelphia, due to lack of the Extremis. Making a wild guess, you say, “Yes.”

“Okay,” James says, “Before I come up with a plan, what is it you want to do?” 

“I want to leave him and never see him again. And then I want to go back home. But how are you going to help me? What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me right now. I’ll help you leave him and help you get back to New York, okay?”

“Okay,” You bite your lip, another tear falling down your face and this time, James is the one to wipe it away. You almost melt into his touch.

“Let’s go back to your place. Pack whatever’s valuable but pack lightly. You can stay with me and then tomorrow we’ll hit the road. Okay?” James asks in a soft voice. You nod your head,

“I trust you.” You tell him, and James makes a face you can’t quite call. It’s almost like he’s the one relieved to hear you say this, even though his words have taken a huge weight off your shoulders.

He picks up your scarf from the ground and looks at it like he might shred it into pieces. But instead, James holds it up as if to ask “ _Can I touch you?_ ” And you nod gently.

James brushes your hair to the side, his fingers grazing your neck softly, but you don’t flinch. He wraps the scarf around your neck and gently tugs your hair out, tying the scarf. You watch him as he does this, treating you so delicately and softly.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. James gives you a small smile,

“Don’t thank me,” He says softly, “Like I said, you have me.”

And you think to yourself that James has you, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't boring. I originally had a bigger chapter but this scene seemed to be okay by itself. I also didn't want a bigger scene to feel rushed. I hope this doesn't make the series feel slow or dragged on, I'm just trying to build anticipation/suspense. I hope you enjoyed it! :)


	10. The Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky are one step closer to leaving this town for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I literally had writer's block, I just couldn't get the words out the way I wanted to. BUT FINALLY! Here it is. Enjoy :)
> 
> Just a warning: blood and violence but not too graphic, I don't think. Mentions of (fictional) drug use.

Bucky has been trained to notice details. HYDRA trained him to be the world’s greatest and deadliest assassin, and that training included pointing out and noticing details. Big details, small details, every detail is important when studying a target and your surroundings.

Your smile was the first thing Bucky noticed about you. He remembers seeing you for the first time at the diner, sitting by yourself with a cup of coffee in front of you. He hadn’t seen it right away, but when you did finally smile he only caught a glimpse of it. He didn’t need to look any longer to know that it was the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time. Your smile captivated him, and then everything else seemed to follow suit:

Your perfectly disheveled hair that was sometimes down and sometimes in a low bun. Your jacket that matched the color of his own. Your quiet demeanor that he was so attracted to like a gravitational pull. And that scarf. That scarf that you seemed to like so much since you wore it so often. Bucky ended up liking that scarf.

But now that he knows the truth behind the scarf? Why you wear it so much? Bucky _despises_ it. For a long time he believed it was something you wore simply because you liked it so much, but no, you wore it because you were hiding a darker truth.

He should’ve known why you wore it so often. He should’ve noticed the small quirks you had, like when he’d subconsciously clench his metal fist and you’d flinch. He should’ve noticed you always fiddling with your scarf, bringing up to your neck when Bucky just thought you were cold. He should have noticed all of these small, small details.

Bucky’s on edge the entire cab ride to your house. He’s trying to focus on each passing tree, street light, fire hydrant, _anything_ to get his mind off of the only emotion he can feel right now: absolute fury.

How could someone do that to you? How could someone _be like that_ to you? To Bucky, you are an angel sent from heaven, giving him a reason to keep going, giving him a reason to believe that despite everything he has seen, despite the horrors he has faced, there is still light in this world. There are beautiful things and beautiful people. You are one of them.

When Bucky saw those bruises on your neck, his heart felt like it was being attacked with a million shards of glass.

 _He_ knows what it’s like to be abused. He _knows_ what it’s like to be controlled, to be scared, to have your _life_ taken away from you. He knows all of that and more. You weren’t supposed to experience something like this, he believes. No, not you.

The world was simply unfair. 

Bucky’s suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of your hand on his knee. In all of this, _you_ are the one comforting him, and that amazes him.

“You okay?” You whisper. Maybe he wasn’t so good at hiding his emotions like he thought. Bucky nods,

“Yeah. I am. Are you?”

“I will be,” You reply as you look back out the window. Bucky holds his gaze on you for a few moments before looking out his own window. He clenches his metal hand.

Pulling up to your house, Bucky is a little surprised at the size of the place. Not because he expected anything less but because he didn’t know what to expect. The location is on the complete opposite side of town, a part Bucky has never bothered to go near. It’s a large house, a bit mansion esque, with tall windows and a black gate. In the dark, Bucky can tell it’s a darker colored house though he’s not quite sure which. There’s a driveway, but no car.

“He’s not here,” You say quietly. Bucky’s disappointed. If he could have his way with _Nathan_ … oh boy…

Exiting the cab you look up at the place for a few seconds before Bucky places his hand on the small of your back.

“We have to be quick,” Bucky whispers, a gentle urge.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

The inside of the house is nothing short of extravagant. Marble floors and high ceilings, Bucky wonders what and who this Nathan exactly is. Drug dealer? Business man? Family inheritance? He knows guys like Nathan. Rich, powerful… sometimes a threat to HYDRA.

Bucky shakes the thoughts off. He doesn’t care who Nathan is. He’s an abuser. And Bucky’s only priority right now is you and getting you back to New York City safely.

You don’t turn the lights on. Bucky follows you up the steps and into a room, the master bedroom, he assumes. Bucky looks around the room in hatred. There’s a bathroom inside, the door half shut. A taller than body length mirror on one side of the room. His eyes fall on the king sized bed. He’s trying to control his breathing by standing near the window, looking out for any sign of _him_.

You waste no time in grabbing a backpack and stuffing it with various garments of clothing. Bucky’s focus remains outside but he hears you shuffling through some drawers.

“I know he has a secret stash of cash here,” Bucky hears you mumble. He turns to look at you as you fish through another drawer, “Got it. There’s almost seven hundred bucks here.”

Bucky stays silent as he turns his focus back out the window.

“James?” You say his name and Bucky immediately looks at you again, “Are you sure about this?”

Bucky furrows an eyebrow, “About what?”

“Like… helping me. I don’t want to become a burden for you. If you want you can just take me to a–“

“___,” Bucky says your name with such conviction you stop speaking, “Nothing has mattered to me more than this. You matter to me.”

You look away from his eyes but Bucky is still looking at you. He catches a glimpse at the faintest bruise on your left cheekbone and Bucky feels his blood boiling in his veins.

“Okay,” You reply, “Alright. Well, I’m ready.”

“And you’re not even going to say goodbye?” A slick voice filled with malice comes from the darkness of the bathroom. Bucky instinctively stands in front of you, both fists clenched. He feels you place your hand on his shoulder but Bucky stays put. Instead, he watches as you stand in front of him.

He won’t lay a hand on the guy unless he has to. Unless he knows you need him to.

“Nathan–“

“Thought I wasn’t home, huh?” Nathan smirks as he slowly steps out of the darkness and into the light of the room, “You should know better.” He’s wearing a button up shirt and dress pants, dress shoes still on, though Bucky can’t figure out why he looks _sick_. His skin in pale, blonde hair looking a bit ashy, and when he coughs on the back of his hand, there’s blood.

“You know,” Nathan continues. He continues walking but stops when Bucky takes a step closer behind you, “Aldrich let me go today. All the way in _fucking_ Los Angeles. After everything I’ve done for him he just leaves me for nothing. I wanted to come home, to see you waiting for me in bed,” Nathan takes a sharp intake of breath. If looks could kill, the look on Bucky’s face would have sent Nathan into the scorching depths of hell, where Bucky would meet him later to show him what actual hell feels like.

“But you weren’t,” Nathan starts circling around. He coughs again, almost keels over, and that’s when you speak.

“You still haven’t explained why you look like you’re dying,” You say. Nathan lets out a shrill laugh,

“When he let me go I wanted to get back at him. So I went for the lab in the Philadelphia office and wanted just one more injection of the Extremis. Turns out it wasn’t ready yet.” Nathan explains. He’s dying, Bucky thinks.

 _Good_.

“So when I came home to find you missing,” Nathan begins, his voice raising at the end of each sentence, “And you weren’t here, and just as I thought the worst, that you _left me_ after everything I’ve given _you_ , I thought you’re just like Aldrich.”

“You gave me nothing,” You say to Nathan, “You took everything away from me. And you act like it’s my fault.”

“Because it is!” Nathan yells. Bucky steps closer behind you but you place your hand on his wrist. Nathan raises an eyebrow as he sees this and crosses his arms,

“Is this who you’re leaving me for? Is this why you weren’t home, why you’re _never_ home between midnight and now I assume? You think he can give you what I give you?” Nathan uncrosses his arms and places them behind his back. Bucky watches him carefully behind hard eyes.

Nathan whips out a gun, pointing it straight at you but before he can even cock the gun, Bucky jumps in front of you, shielding you with his left arm as Nathan pulls the trigger.

The bullets hit Bucky’s arm and you shriek, calling out his name in panic that he got hit, but there’s no hiding his secret now. The bullets bounce effortlessly off Bucky’s arm and onto the floor. The look on Nathan’s face shows that he wasn’t expecting that either but Bucky wastes no time in lunging at Nathan and holding him by the neck with his flesh hand against the wall. He’s too weak to fight, Bucky can feel it, whatever that _Extremis_ was.

But maybe not weak enough to clock Bucky in the jaw. Bucky’s grip loosens on his neck while Nathan has the upper hand for a second as he punches him again. The gun is long gone on the floor now. Bucky decks him with his head in the jaw and Nathan falls back on the ground, coughing uncontrollably.

“Damn that fucking Extremis! If I had the right one I’d _kill_ you! Both of you!” Nathan screams, veins popping in his neck as he coughs blood on the hard wood floor. Bucky stands above him and ignores the fact that his glove on his left hand is now discarded. He grabs Nathan by the neck with his metal hand and twists his arm backwards as he shoves him against the wall, seeing nothing but red.

“How does it feel?” Bucky’s voice is icy cold and low as he speaks into Nathan’s ear, “How does it feel to be out of control, to be scared? That’s what you put her through every _goddamn night_.” Bucky’s grip on his neck and hand tightens as Nathan finds the struggle to speak.

Oh, god, it would be _so easy_ , Bucky thinks. It would be so satisfying to feel his neck just snap. All he has to do is squeeze just a bit harder. It would be like squeezing a glass vase for it to shatter into a million pieces.

Bucky wants to kill him. He wants to feel how perfectly his neck would snap in his hands, how easy it would feel and God it would happen so fast. For once, this would be a death that matters to him. A death he would like to remember.

But he knows he cannot do that. That’s not him anymore. It never was to begin with. And besides that, you’re still in this room standing behind him, witnessing all of this happening with silent bravery and maybe silent fear. Bucky knows you have seen enough violence. You’ve had enough violence.

So, Bucky loosens his grip on the excuse for a human being’s neck and arm. He’s weak anyways, dying probably. A good scare will suffice for Bucky. You don’t have to worry about _that_ anymore.

And suddenly, a loud thud is met to Nathan’s head, one that Bucky isn’t expecting. A candle holder is in your hands as Nathan falls to the ground unconscious. Bucky looks at you as you drop the weapon on the floor, eyes on the man that has hurt you countless of times. You don’t meet Bucky’s eyes when you speak again.

“Let’s go.”

 

 


	11. James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky helped you, but you saved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst and MAJOR Bucky feels. Enjoy!

The ride back to the motel is quiet. The only sound that fills the air is the sound of the tires running over pavement, a comforting sound for both of you. Bucky has his left hand tucked deep into his jacket pocket, the jacket which now has three bullet holes. Bucky glances at you every so often but your attention is kept out the window. He can’t tell what you’re thinking right now. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

When you arrive at the motel, Bucky quietly leads you to his room. He didn’t expect to have you here so he didn’t make any time to straighten up and hide anything suspicious. Museum pamphlets are scattered all over the desk in the room. His only bag rests on a chair near the bed. None of that matters now, Bucky thinks, now that you have seen the only thing he has tried to keep hidden from you.

When you’re finally all settled in, your duffle bag sitting next to his own bag, you don’t say anything about his arm. You don’t question the pamphlets and lack of luggage for someone traveling. He knows you notice these things. Maybe you’re just too tired to question them.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” You say in a strained voice. You’re trying to hold yourself together, Bucky sees that, and he wants to make it better–he just doesn’t know how.

“Okay,” Bucky replies, taking off his cap, “You can have the bed. I’ll take the–“

“Don’t you dare say floor,” You gently argue, a hint of a smile on your face. Bucky looks down and then back to you with a small grin,

“Okay. I’ll be up for a little bit, though,” Bucky tells you. You get under the covers and nod,

“Alright. Well, good night. And James?”

You call his name as he’s about to head into the bathroom. He looks at you and you smile a little, “Thank you.”

Bucky nods his head silently and shuts himself away in the bathroom.

* * *

He’s been in here for what feels like hours. After taking a scorching hot shower for longer than he should have, Bucky stays put in the bathroom only wearing sweatpants. His hands grip the sides of the sink as he leans over; metal on one side, flesh the other. His teeth are gritted. The steam from the shower still in the room is suffocating Bucky from cool air. He doesn’t care. He lets the fog coat his skin, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. His arm. He can’t see his reflection in the mirror because of the steam. Good, he thinks. He doesn’t want to see his scars, his arm, _himself_.

The thought that he wanted to kill Nathan put Bucky off a bit. He shouldn’t want to kill even if it was someone who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. But HYDRA made Bucky into a killing machine; a monster. This is who he _is_ and who he _always_ will be. The thought–no–the _fact_ unsettles him beyond words and to think that he could do it to anyone scares him.

He would never hurt you.

But the fact is that his mind is still scattered. He could wake up from a nightmare and hit whatever is in his path. He could turn anything into a weapon. He _is_ a weapon.

The fluorescent light in the bathroom buzzes and illuminates a soft teal glow in the room, casting a dark shadow around Bucky’s figure. The mirror is still fogged up. A blurred image of himself is all he sees, a dark shadow in the dim light, a simple figure. He almost scoffs at the irony but finds himself too weak. Bucky reaches his flesh hand to wipe the fog away, and when he does, he hates the image he sees. He hates his arm. He hates the scars embedded in him so deeply both physically and emotionally. He hates that he almost killed a man in front of you and that he _wanted_ to.

Maybe you weren’t as safe with Bucky as he thought.

Something in him snaps as he launches a metal fist to the fluorescent tube light, shattering the bulb into a million pieces that fall in the sink of the bathroom and to the floor. _That damn buzzing_.

“James?” It’s your voice. Your sweet, sweet tired voice is muffled through the thin bathroom door, “Are you okay?” It pulls Bucky from his thoughts, like a crack of light in his darkness.

Bucky composes himself quickly, letting go of the sink and wiping his face, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just go to bed, it’s late.”

“It’s six in the morning,” You say, “Have you been in there all night? Are you okay?”

“I–I’m fine, ___. I’ll be out in a second,” Bucky says as he slips on a tight black shirt. He takes a deep breath before opening the door to meet you.

When he does, he notices you’ve changed. You’re in black yoga pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Even though you’re safe from Nathan now, Bucky still can’t help but feel rage when he sees the bruises scattered on your neck and the ones hidden by your sleeves.

Your eyes fall to his left side and you raise your eyebrows. Bucky doesn’t bother in trying to cover it up. He knows it’s too late. He’s afraid of what you’re going to say.

“I, um,” You stutter, “I noticed the pamphlets of museums on your desk. All have one thing in common,” You say in a shaky voice. Bucky prepares for the worst. “They all have had that same Captain America exhibit. The one with the Howling Commandos and… yeah. World War Two stuff.” You say quietly. Bucky can see by the look on your face that you’re trying to make sense of how it all connects to him.

“And well…” You trail off, gesturing to his arm, “You said you had scars.”

“I do,” Bucky says without hesitation.

“I just–Can you help me out a little? I’m just trying to figure out something–maybe I already have–but I need some sort of explanation. I think I deserve to know who is helping me get back to Manhattan,” You say in the calmest voice to Bucky. It’s not argumentative. It’s not threatening. His heart feels heavy in his chest when he looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

“I don’t know where to start,” Bucky says in a defeated tone of voice. Once you know the truth about him, he’s sure you’ll pack your bags and go without him. He’s done what he has had to, he supposes. You don’t need him. You don’t need this stress, this uncertainty, this fear of being with him. You don’t deserve it.

“Just…” You shrug, “Anywhere is okay. I’m listening.”

Bucky still hasn’t looked up to your eyes. The amount of shame he feels right now is immeasurable. He’s not who you think he is. He’s not a good man, he’s not a lover, he could _never_ be a lover, he’s not any of that. He’s a _monster_. How can he explain this to you? Bucky’s eyebrows furrow as he locks his eyes on his feet, a lump forming in his throat. He shifts on his feet.

“James,” You whisper, “Anywhere.”

When Bucky looks up to meet your eyes, so full of innocence and concern, Bucky almost breaks down on the spot. He feels terrible for lying to you this entire time. He hates himself for putting you in this position. He knows the thoughts he cannot put into words will simply make him lose your trust, something he holds dearly to his heart.

The worst part? He thinks you already know by the tears forming in your eyes. His own tears fall down his cheeks, his eyes never leaving yours. He is utterly speechless. _Torn_. He just got you, and now he’s about to lose you.

He should be used to this by now.

“I haven’t been honest,” Bucky finally manages to say, though his voice is deep and throaty, just waiting for a sob to escape his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I know who you are,” You reply, trying to make it easier for him, “after D.C. I read all the files Natasha Romanoff released to the public.” You want to desperately make this better, Bucky can tell, but your words just make him hurt even more. He begins to pace. You reach for him, but he pulls away quickly, and the hurt look on your face is evident. He doesn’t deserve your touch. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

Bucky turns his back to you. He can’t look at you. Through teary eyes he looks down at the floor, like the longer he stares at it the sooner it will swallow him up, leaving the world with one less burden.

But you’re insistent. You stay where you are but you don’t fall back on your words. Bucky watches as a tear drop falls to the floor, the carpet soaking it up.

“Don’t do that,” Your voice is quiet, but Bucky hears you loud and clear, “don’t shut me out.” He hears a quiet cry escape your lips.

“I’ll take you to a bus station out of town. You’ll be safer without me–“ Bucky starts with a strong voice over his tears but it falters when you interrupt him.

“James,” You say louder, though your voice is shaking, “don’t say that, _please_.”

Bucky turns around, stepping further away from you as he feels panic and guilt spread across his chest. He is disgusted with himself, undeserving of your concern and the tears that fall down your face. He wants to wipe them away but he can’t.

“If you read those files,” Bucky begins, trying to find some sort of steadiness in his voice but can’t, “then you know what I’ve done. You know _who I am_.”

“Do you think any of that changes what I think of you?” You ask, finding more steadiness in your voice than him. You step closer to Bucky, trying to meet his averted gaze. When you finally do, he finds it hard to look away from you.

“It should,” Bucky says, “It should give you every reason to walk out right now.”

“It doesn’t. And I won’t,” You tell him, “It only gives me every reason to stay. Do you want me to walk out?”

“No,” Bucky replies immediately, and he’s startled at the urgency in his voice, “no,” he says softly.

“Then don’t push me away.” You plead in a voice barely above a whisper. Bucky looks at you without speaking. Pushing you away is the last thing he wanted to do, but the first thing he knows he _should_ do. For your own sake.

When he doesn’t respond, you speak up again.

“Please, James, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not scared of you. I want to help in any way I can,” you plead, voice filled with tears. Bucky can see you clearly but he can’t believe what he’s hearing from you. You’re crying now, desperate for him to listen.

“Do you know how hard that is for me?” He asks.

“I know it must be hard but do you know how hard it was for me to show you these?” You pull the collar of your shirt down with your fingers, revealing your bruises to Bucky once again. He lets out a harsh exhale at the sight, looking at them through bleary eyes, “and you didn’t run away from me.”

“That’s different.”

“In what way?” Your voice is strained, “in what way? Do you remember what you said to me when I showed you them?”

Bucky swallows, his tears not shortening. They’re coming out hot and fast on his cheeks as he feels like his whole world is shaking.

“You said to me ‘ _this isn’t your fault_.’ You said that to me,” you’re desperate for him to understand you, he knows that, and his heart hurts every time he hears your voice crack, “I’m here to tell you the same thing. _This isn’t your fault_.”

And that’s when it comes crashing down. It’s all too overwhelming for Bucky. He thought you would hate him, _despise_ him even, but no. Here you were, telling him that the horrors HYDRA put him through were not his fault. He may not believe you, but he does believe you truly are an angel, one he promises to himself to keep close, even if it was a bit selfish. He lets out a heart wrenching sob. His shoulders are shaking but it stops when you wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. It’s all Bucky needs right now. To know that you’re still here with him.

“You have me, Bucky.”

He holds onto you as if his life depends on it, and maybe it does in a way, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair and he thinks it’s heavenly, something he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t deserve to hear what you’re saying. He doesn’t deserve your comfort. Bucky doesn’t deserve you.

You’re both crying and holding onto each other. A mix of cool and warm spreads across your back in a comforting way, a safe way, and all Bucky feels is the same as you hold onto him. You called him by his name and the gravity of it sends Bucky even deeper into his feelings. Deeper into his connection with you. Deeper and closer to _you_.

And you don’t stop there. You pull back to meet his eyes, because you truly want Bucky to believe you, to understand you and listen to you when you say what you’re about to say.

Meeting his stormy blue eyes, rimmed red from crying, just as you assume yours are too, you wipe his tears away, your fingers grazing his stubble and jaw, as his hands rest on your waist, both metal and flesh.

But no words can come out from either of you. Too overwhelmed, too moved by the other, too enticed by this moment. You just stand there, looking at the other so deeply. There’s no denying that you both saved each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of the way this turned out. I hope you all enjoyed it! :-) Thank you so much for reading. There's is still more in store!


	12. So Much To Do, So Little Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You show Bucky a part of your soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the wait! I don't know why, but fluff is so hard for me to write–is it weird angst comes easier to me?! Is that concerning?? Haha, well anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :-)

Warmth. 

It’s what Bucky wakes up to. It’s not the kind of warmth you feel when the sun rays are shining across your eyelids, it’s the kind of warmth you wake up to when your arms are wrapped around someone in bed, holding them close to you. The warmth spreads all across your body and even warms your heart a bit.

That’s how Bucky feels this morning.

When he wakes up it’s just past seven in the morning. His eyes feel heavy at first. His flesh hand is on your stomach, the pads of his fingers tracing your skin as he pulls away from you suddenly. You’re still sleeping soundly, Bucky makes sure.

This has been a common occurrence lately. With the lack of options for motels, most of the places you and Bucky stayed in, the rooms only came with one bed. You were okay with it, and Bucky would be too, if he wasn’t so afraid of himself. But he found that the nights were easier sleeping beside you, anyways. He always woke up to himself completely wrapped around you, your legs intertwined with his. He didn’t know if you knew this or even minded, but if he ever woke up before you, which he always did, he always switched positions. Bucky pulls his metal arm from under your waist slowly and lays on his back, resting the back of his head on his hand.

You’ve had enough of this.

“Bucky,” You mumble half asleep, already feeling cool air settle on your skin, the warmth from Bucky’s body disappearing. The thin blankets the motel came with weren’t nearly as satisfying as Bucky. He was pretty much like a heated blanket wrapped around you, so the change in temperature is drastic enough for you to say something. Bucky turns his head to look at you immediately,

“Yes?”

“You always pull away. Am I taking up that much room?” You question, hoping that he gets the message. The beds were full sized beds and compared to Bucky’s size, you didn’t take up nearly half as much room as he did. He chuckles softly, finding his arm around your waist once again, pulling you snug against him.

“Not at all,” Bucky says in your ear, his voice a tired low octave. The feeling sends tingles down your neck as you smile contently, closing your eyes again letting sleep consume you.

Bucky finds a bit more sleep, too.

* * *

It’s only been four days since you and Bucky left that small town. You and Bucky decided to take it slow, but not too slow, on your way out. Changing towns frequently would draw attention to Bucky and besides, you both wanted to spend just a little more time together.

You’re still in Pennsylvania but far away from what now feels like a past life to you. A chapter ended. A new one begins, or maybe it’s the same one you were never able to finish in the first place. Like taking a bookmark out of an old, forgotten book you left years ago.

Sitting across from Bucky in a diner, you look at him behind your menu thoughtfully with quiet eyes. If not for him you’d probably still be trapped in _that_ place. Or maybe not, you weren’t sure. Either way, words cannot express how thankful you are to have met Bucky.

Well, maybe it was Stacy you should be thanking. After all, she was the one who initiated conversation between you two. You smile at the memory and look down at your menu. This diner was much larger than that old one you found solace in so many times before and had an even bigger menu. There’s no old jazz music playing, instead today’s pop hits play over the speakers. It’s a modern diner with photos of famous sports players from different decades.

“I’ve never seen such a complex menu. For a _diner_ ,” Bucky seems to voice his thoughts, his stormy blue eyes still glued to his menu. You look up at him again and giggle softly,

“So many options, so little time,” You reply. You and Bucky had to catch a Greyhound Bus in an hour and a half, but before going, you insisted on going to a diner.

“I see the breakfast menu and I want waffles, but then I see the burgers and I want a cheeseburger…” Bucky trails off. Suddenly, he places the menu flat on the table and slides it over to you. You give him a questioning look.

“What should I get?” He asks you.

You give him a small smile, “I think you should get whatever you want to get.” You shrug and say simply.

Bucky holds your gaze for a moment. The look in his eyes is something you can’t decipher, or maybe you can–you’re just too coaxed by the color. He blinks and looks back down at the menu.

“Waffles.” 

“My favorite.” You reply.

Time passes. By the time you’re both waiting for the check, Bucky lets his attention wander around the diner. It looks nothing like the one he met you in, which is a good thing, he thinks. It’s a change of scenery, especially for you. It’s not a place for you to escape to but a place for you to simply go to.

Bucky looks at the endless photos of baseball players and recognizes a few them, not bothering to look at their name on the plaque below their picture. A memory strikes his mind in faded images: he sees boxes of crackerjacks and blue balloons, and a small blonde kid next to him.

He snaps out of the memory as soon as it crosses his mind. His attention is pulled away when the TV across the room blares the latest headline: HOW AMERICA TAKES DOWN THE THREAT OF HYDRA.

Bucky must have been looking at it for quite some time, because in the next moment he feels your hand on his across the table. He looks at you for an answer, but all you do is smile.

“Just look at me,” You say softly. Bucky nods his head and relaxes into his seat in the booth. _Look at you_. He could do that for the rest of his life, he thinks.

Your hand is still in his when the waiter comes by to drop the check, an older fellow, probably in his late fifties. He reminds Bucky of Stacy, for some reason.

“Here you kids go,” The waiter says. Bucky squints his eyes to look for his name tag. _John_.

“Thank you,” You reply, already reaching for your wallet. Bucky almost protests but you raise your hand in defense.

“Say, with those two bags, where you kids goin’? You travelers or somethin’?” John asks. Bucky freezes and looks at you but you remain a perfectly calm composure. You smile brightly at John and nod your head.

“Something like that…” Bucky catches your eye as you give him a wink, “Think of it as _soul searching_.” You say to John. Bucky can feel the look of admiration on his own face. He looks down and smiles sheepishly.

* * *

The Greyhound Bus logo makes you think of that Simon and Garfunkel song, and you start humming it softly as the bus sets its wheels in motion. Bucky requested the aisle seat for reasons you didn’t know, but that’s okay because you love the window seat.

You feel his arm brush against yours and you look at him. He smiles softly as you slide your hand down his arm, feeling the hard metal beneath the fabric of his jacket, and you slip your fingers through his gloved ones. You look at him questioningly and he nods,

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers, his nose brushing your cheek. “What are you humming?”

You immediately stop and press your lips together in embarrassment. You didn’t realize your humming was that loud, but you answer gladly.

“ _America_. It’s a song by Simon and Garfunkel,” You tell him. Bucky’s look of confusion is both adorable and a bit heartbreaking, knowing the reason why he didn’t know the names you spoke of.

“Oh,” He replies. You squeeze his hand tighter,

“I’ve gotta show you their music–you’d love them. Bookends is like, the soundtrack to my life,” You tell him, “Really beautiful stuff.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hums, “I’d really like that.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t a very long bus ride at all. Only three hours, and now you and Bucky are in southern Pennsylvania but still far from where you need to be. But neither of you mind. You’re not in a rush. 

This time it’s you that finds the motel. It’s called Moonlight Inn, with a yellow neon crescent moon lit up. You check in as Bucky waits behind you, his backpack on his back, your duffle bag in his hands. When you get the keys from the front desk woman, you turn around and hold them up, dangling them in your fingers.

It’s dark out. Pitch black is the color of the sky. The walls of the motel are a teal blue with yellow lighting in the walkways. It’s under the radar, it’s quiet, it’s safe. But Bucky is still on edge as he looks around the lot.

One blue truck is far away from you and him. Two cars parked next to each other on the other side, red and blue. Other than that, it doesn’t look like many people are staying here. Bucky relaxes as you finally reach your room number. Sliding the key in the lock, you open it.

Stepping inside, the motel room is pretty small, smaller than you and Bucky have encountered. But neither of you mind. Even if there were two beds, you’d probably make up an excuse to justify the other bed’s use for your bags. You smile the thought away as you do a quick room check to see anything concerning. Nothing. Bucky shuts the door and locks it, then _super_ locks it with the door chain.

“I’m gonna shower real quick,” You tell Bucky, reaching for your bag, “You okay?” You ask Bucky as he peeks out the window. He looks at you and nods, his fingers still holding the blinds,

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’ll be out here.”

“We’re safe here, Bucky. Don’t worry,” You tell him. He nods, but that doesn’t stop him from looking out once more.

* * *

The TV is on but it mostly serves as background noise and something to look at for Bucky. No, he could careless about the reality show of a family on the screen. He’s too focused on your fingers lightly running up and down his flesh arm in a soothing way. Bucky can just feel his heart growing in his chest by the second, just on the verge of bursting with pure infatuation. He’s hypnotized by your movements. Bucky could _fucking melt_ but he’s making himself stay put to not disrupt your movements.

“Oh my, God!” You exclaim, causing Bucky to jump. You let out a laugh at his reaction and quickly suppress it with a hand to your mouth.

In the past few days, Bucky has gotten to know your personality, the one without a guard up, completely free. You’re still quiet, that same aura that Bucky fell for the first time he saw you, but you’re also passionate, and there was nothing quiet about that. 

“What?” Bucky asks.

“I almost forgot about showing you the songs,” You get up and leave Bucky’s arm to his disappointment.

“Oh…”

"Oh, shit. I don’t even think I packed an iPod.”

“A what?”

“It’s a–you’ll see. Just give me a second.”

You unzip your duffle bag and quickly scrummage through it, hoping that by some grace of God there is _something_ in here that plays music, though it is very unlikely. Your heart nearly stops when you feel something hard tucked between a thick sweater sleeve.

“No fucking way,” You say under your breath, pulling out an old iPod classic. But you aren’t shocked. You remember hiding this from _him_ in your clothes all the time. Your only form of escape when you couldn’t leave the house.

“What?” Bucky asks a bit urgently. You turn around and hold up the small device in your hand.

“I got it!”

When you join Bucky back in bed, you sit cross legged next to him while his legs are spread out in front of him. You explain to him what it is, that it’s a small device that can hold thousands and thousands of songs and you can listen to it wherever you are.

“Is it traceable?” He asks.

“Not this one. This one is ancient. Completely safe,” You reassure him. You click the iPod on and see there’s only fifty percent battery left. It was enough to show Bucky Simon and Garfunkel’s best.

You pat the spot beside you, “Come sit.”

Bucky clicks the TV off and moves to sit next to you, his right knee touching your left. He pretends to not notice how you move even closer to him.

“Alright, here,” You hand him a earbud and you almost tell him what it is, but he slips it into his left ear, the chord stretching long enough. You put the other one in your right ear and slide the circular button.

“So, the song I was humming on the bus is called _America_. It’s on the album Bookends, which is my favorite album,” You explain to Bucky. He nods, pushing his hair behind his ears and tying his hair into a low bun. You love the look. You also notice how focused he looks on the iPod, watching as your thumb moves across the motion sensed button. His lips are pursed together, eyes squinted.

The song begins to play. The soft hums of Simon and Garfunkel ease your mind as you close your eyes, getting lost in their voices. It’s beautiful. This duo was with you all throughout high school, college, and now, sharing them with Bucky. It feels right _._

When the song is over, you look at Bucky for his reaction. He has a hint of a smile on his face. You’re beaming.

“Play another,” Bucky says quietly as he nods to the iPod. You smile as you search through some songs, settling on _Mrs. Robinson_.

The more upbeat song sends you blushing slightly as you watch Bucky’s reaction. His eyes flick to yours for a moment before he looks back down at the screen and smiles a little. You inch closer to Bucky and lean your elbow on his knee.

Listening to the songs with Bucky, he realizes in that moment that he’s never smiled more in his life than he has in his time spent with you so far. You take away those horrors that sit deep in chest. You make his heart feel light. When you touch him he turns to putty in your hands. You’re showing him a part of you by showing him these songs. He starting to like Simon and Garfunkel.

When the song ends, you scroll through their entire discography in your iPod, and a title catches Bucky’s attention.

“What’s… _Bridge Over Troubled Water_?” Bucky asks.

Your heart melts at the question, “The most beautiful song ever written. So many times in my college days this song has saved me from the stress of school and well, life.” Bucky nods his head as you press play.

The piano begins a soft melody and Bucky is taken by the sound immediately. An image forms in his mind, a little girl with brown hair sitting at a piano. She’s terrible at it, but he likes it. Bucky smiles at the memory, and shortly, it disappears.

_When you're weary, feeling small_

_When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all (all)_

_I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough_

_And friends just can't be found_

 

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

 

The lyrics take a toll on Bucky. He looks at you for a moment, but your attention is on the iPod. Clearly, this song means a lot to you. _You’re so beautiful_ , Bucky thinks to himself. His eyes trail down to your neck, the now fading bruises almost gone. When he looks back up at you, you look away from him shyly.

 

_When you're down and out_

_When you're on the street_

_When evening falls so hard_

_I will comfort you (ooo)_

_I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes_

_And pain is all around_

 

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

 

You sort of feel like by showing Bucky this song, you’re showing him a part of your soul–a part, at least, that he hasn’t seen yet. You place the iPod on the bed and sigh with a soft breath, folding your hands together. 

Bucky feels this warm sensation spread through his chest every time he looks at you. He can’t explain it, but he likes it, and it’s certainly not a feeling he has felt before, or at least, in seventy years. It’s a feeling that when he looks at the world, it’s okay. You’ve changed his views on the world in many small, though significant ways for him. Bucky no longer sees the world against him but that could be for the reason now that _you are his world._

Bucky is still recovering because it takes time but you sure as hell have helped him through some of his darkest, darkest moments.

 

_Sail on silver girl_

_Sail on by_

_Your time has come to shine_

_All your dreams are on their way_

_See how they shine_

_Oh, if you need a friend_

_I'm sailing right behind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind_

 

The song ends and you and Bucky are silent, the soft white noise from the earphones the only thing audible. Your hands are still locked together, unsure of what to say, though you feel like saying a million things to Bucky. _Thank you? I’m so glad we started talking about milkshakes that one night? When you hold me it feels like my soul is on fire and I really, really want you to do it again?_

_“_ What did you think?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He doesn’t respond.

When you turn to look at Bucky you see that he’s already looking at you, his blue gaze pouring into your eyes. His usual stormy looking eyes look calmer, but his jaw is set tight. You open your mouth to say something but instead, you find yourself leaning closer to him. You see Bucky’s finger twitch–he grips his knee, like he’s trying to contain himself from touching you.

Which he is. He still, deep down, knows he doesn’t deserve this from you. He doesn’t deserve to feel your fingers lightly running up and down his arm. He doesn’t deserve to wake up to himself completely wrapped around you _and for you to want it_. He doesn’t deserve any of it. He sees you leaning in. Why is he frozen, held back from invisible chains keeping him from touching you? What is _stopping him_?

 _Don’t do it,_ Bucky thinks to himself. But it’s too late, because by the time he closes the distance between you, your lips touch, and Bucky is sent into a state of bliss. The chains break. He let’s go and he lets himself feel this in every way he can.

The kiss is slow, as time seems to stop. It’s everything Bucky could have wanted, though. Your lips are soft, a perfect mold against his own, and he presses his lips to yours a bit harder. There’s a gentle urgency beneath his movements, as he turns his head and brushes his nose against yours. Your hands tentatively let go of each other and you find yourself mirroring Bucky’s position of gripping your knees, holding yourself back from absolutely wrapping him in your arms.

You think to yourself that you’re going to have to make the first move, but you don’t mind at all. You think you both need reassurance because _God, this is too much to handle_. You need his touch.

You place your hands over his flesh one and Bucky takes this as an invitation. He slides his hand from under yours and cups your face gently with his metal hand. The coolness spreads from your chin to your cheek, a much needed relief from the warmth in your chest, though both sensations were absolutely breathtaking.

It doesn’t take long before you find it in yourself to get into his lap, straddling your legs around his waist. You place your hands on his shoulders, one side warm and soft, the other hard and cold. Bucky breaks the kiss for a moment and looks up at you,

“Wait,” Bucky says with a low rasp, “ _Do you want this_?” He looks worried. You can’t understand why.

Your heart breaks at his low, small voice. You’ve never wanted anything more than this.

You place your index finder and thumb on Bucky’s cleft chin and raise his head to look into your eyes, “With my whole heart, yes.”

Bucky kisses you with so much passion burning in his chest. His kisses trail from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck, and the only bruises made there are the ones done by the intensity of his lips.

You kiss him again, this time deeper. Bucky deepens the kiss even more as he places his left hand on the back of your neck, bringing you down with him as he lays on his back. Still straddling him, you take his arms and place them on the pillow where his head rests. You pull back. He looks at you with dreamy eyes.

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” It’s a small confession you make, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Bucky pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear,

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, doll.” The pet name escapes his lips before he could even think about it, like the ghost of a name. You don’t seem to mind it at all, so Bucky doesn’t mind. He takes a mental note, however, at how you smile at it.

“Well,” you kiss his lips between your words, “better late than never.”

The biggest smile spreads across Bucky’s face and you realize that he has never shone so brightly before. You hoped he’d let this feeling come easier to him as time goes on.

You sit up in his lap and takes your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. You’re holding down on him as he pressing up towards you, a perfect balance. In the soft glow of the lamp, you look beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky tells you, finally voicing his thoughts. You’re blushing again, and Bucky finds that he likes this reaction from you.

“No,” You say breathlessly, “You are.”

He looks at you for a moment, and you swear you see a hint of sadness spread across his features, but it’s gone the moment you see it. He breathes a heavy sigh as he brings your right hand down and kisses your knuckles.

“There’s so many things I want to do with you, but–“

“Not enough time,” You finish his sentence and he presses his lips together, knowing fully well that you both know your time together is limited.

“Well, we’re still here,” You say, “I’ve never felt more safe than I have with you, Bucky.”

Bucky takes your words lightly.

“I wish we could be like that song _America,_ ” Bucky breathes and says thoughtfully. He brings both your hands back up again, playing with them in the air as you sit straddled around his waist on the thin mattress.

“Hmm. What are we going to be instead?” You ask him, leaning across his torso and dipping down to steal a kiss. He holds your lips with his for a moment before you pull back for his response.

“I don’t know,” he says, and there’s that hint of sadness again except in his voice, but he’s still thinking of an answer, “I can be your… _bridge over troubled water_ , though.” A huge smile spreads across your lips and Bucky feels a small sense of pride that he was the reason behind it.

“That’d be a huge debt to owe, Barnes. But a debt that’s not a burden. I’d only have to be the same for you,” You say, and you’re not joking.

Neither is Bucky. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do, though,” You tell him, a bit more serious, “I do.”

“You _don’t_.”

You’re silent, and Bucky reaches up to meet your lips. He swiftly lifts you up off his waist and sets you down beside him, pulling you close. Your body is immediately covered with the heat of his as you settle down next to him, enjoying his warmth.

You feel his lips kiss your shoulder. He reaches behind him to turn the lamp off. You feel your iPod beneath the sheets but you don’t bother to move it. You don’t want to leave Bucky’s arms even for a second. He pulls the blanket over the two of you and whispers into your ear.

“Good night. We’ll have all day tomorrow,” Bucky says. Your heart melts at his words. A day is not enough with Bucky Barnes. Perhaps an entire lifetime.


	13. It Is What It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a nightmare. And then the next day is like a daydream he never wants to leave. You don't want to leave, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! I started this chapter over like seven times. Let me tell you, I did NOT originally have a smut scene planned for this fic, like, at all. But... well... the chapter sort of wrote itself and things took a different turn lol so here it is! This is my first fic ever and my first smut scene (well, one of the first) so if anything is TERRIBLE, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy! :-) 
> 
> WARNINGS/Disclaimers/Notes: 18+ readers please, SMUT, fingering, light angsty smut, light fluff. Also, please guys, USE A CONDOM WHEN YOU HAVE SEX!!! This is a work of fiction, alright? Now, enjoy :)

_Sergeant Barnes of the 107th._

_This isn’t a back alley, Steve, it’s war!_

_Bucky?_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

_You are the new face of HYDRA._

_Soldat? Ready to comply._

_Pain. Gunshots. Drugs. Serum. Red. Red. Red. Snap!_

_Start over. And wipe him again._

Bucky shoots up in bed with his hands balled into fists. A thin sheen of cold sweat coats his forehead. He looks around the room to find his bearings. The hum of the AC buzzes softly. Dim blue street lights shine through the cracks of the curtains. You, sleeping soundly beside Bucky.

Everything is too hot and too cold all at once and Bucky absolutely cannot take the sensation anymore. Kicking off the sheets of the bed, he gets up and paces around the room.

Pacing helps him. It always has.

The rough carpet rubs beneath his feet as he drags them to and fro. His fists haven’t unclenched since the moment he got up.

The images flash in his mind like strobe lights. Each image blends and fades and then _snaps_ into a different one. A small blonde kid with newspapers in his shoes. A war. A train car and blinding white snow and then wet _red snow_. A chair. And horrible, terrible, screams that sound just like his own except he can’t tell the difference anymore between his and the people he has killed.

“Bucky?” He’s pulled from his thoughts as he hears your tired whisper in the darkness. “Bucky?”

Bucky turns away from you, his entire body shaking. He doesn’t want you to see him like this, all frantic and unhinged and _dangerous_. Bucky grips the top of the chair at the room’s desk and squeezes so tight he can almost feel the wood snap in his hands. His back is to you as he turns his head slightly.

“I’m fine.” Bucky’s startled by his own voice. The words come out deep and throaty and you _know_ he is nowhere near being fine.

Getting out of bed you walk over to Bucky who is leaning over the chair, his head dipped down. You put your hand to touch his shoulder but Bucky pulls away from you.

“Don’t,” it’s low, harsh. Bucky actually sounds _scared_. His long hair covers his face and your heart grows heavy in your chest.

“Don’t what?” You ask him softly.

“I don’t–I don’t want to hurt you. Just go back to bed, I’ll be fine.” He struggles with his words and you take a step closer to him. Bucky doesn’t move.

“You’re not going to hurt me. You’re not like that. You’re gentle with me, Bucky. Gentle is all I’ve ever known of you,” You tell him, reaching your hand out for him to grab it. Bucky looks at it hard and long and with _longing._ He knows he can take it, let himself be pulled into your warm embrace, but he holds back.

He’s damaged, emotionally scarred, but you see past all of that. That’s not who he is and that’s not who he ever was.

After a few long moments pass, he gives in, and Bucky reaches his flesh hand to take yours. You immediately grab him tight and pull him towards you, wrapping your arms around him. He’s warm and his metal arm whirs as he holds you against him, the coolness settling on your back. Bucky presses his nose into your hair and closes his eyes.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. You run soothing circles on his back with your fingers, pressing your lips to his shoulder, the one where metal meets flesh. Bucky shudders against you and with defeat in his voice says “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, Bucky…” You pull back and he rests his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. He’s trying to regain a normal breathing pace. You kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask him. He looks in your eyes and shakes his head,

“No. I just–I want to focus on you,” Bucky tells you, his voice barely audible. You nod your head and lead him back to bed, his metal hand in yours.

Falling on the mattress first, you pull Bucky towards you and he encases you in his arms, his bodyweight slightly on you, but it’s a feeling you welcome.

His arms are up and underneath yours as he hugs you tight against him, his head between where your shoulder meets your neck. There, he kisses you softly and slowly. The sensations it brings feels even better in your sleepy, dreamy state. You caress your fingers through Bucky’s hair and he lets out a soft hum at the consoling feeling.

His skin is soft, you feel. Ever since your first kiss two nights ago, Bucky was much more comfortable in sleeping without a shirt on. Before, he only wore one purely out of boundaries, but you noticed how hot he’d get in the middle of the night and his body temperature in general was warmer than the average person, so you didn’t mind at all. And well, Bucky wasn’t hard to look at. So you didn’t mind about that, either.

Bucky’s switches from kissing your neck to kissing your jaw. Locks of his hair tickle your skin. His nose trails against the length of your neck and you shiver at the sensations it brings you. Suddenly, you feel something wet against your skin there as the cool air coats it, and your heart is in your throat.

“Are you crying, Bucky?” You ask him softly. Bucky pauses and pulls back as he sniffs,

“Pathetic, right?” He jabs at himself, a half smile on his face. Though you’re not smiling at all.

You wipe his tears away, “No, not pathetic. Bucky, we can talk about them if you–“

“No,” Bucky cuts you off softly and kisses your lips, “Not tonight.”

Though you’re not sure what exactly he is referring to, you don’t question it. Not right now. It seems that all Bucky needs right now is you and that is not a hard task for you to do. In fact, it’s no task at all.

* * *

Exhaustion settles into you as you lay on your side in bed, the second to last motel you and Bucky will be staying in before hitting Manhattan in two days. Tomorrow will be your last night with Bucky and you’ve done all you could today to try to _not_ think about that thought.

Bucky soon joins you, dipping the bed a little with his body weight. You laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling, a genuine smile spreading on your lips and staying there for a while. Bucky looks at you like you’re the entire universe. He pulls you flush against him, your chest covered by a thin tank top against his bare one.

“What’so funny?” Bucky speaks lowly into your ear. You laugh even more at the sensations his whisper sends down your neck.

“You’re so big the entire bed dips when you lay down,” You say with a soft giggle.

“Well, it brings me closer to you, doesn’t it?” Bucky replies, placing a kiss on your jaw.

“It does,” You say, sighing into his soft touches.

“And you don’t mind, do you?” Bucky asks, pausing in his movements. You find that he still asks for permission, consent, whenever he touches or kisses you. It’s not always direct, but the implication always lies beneath his words. His flesh hand finds its place on your waist, dangerously close to the waistband of your cotton cheeky panties.

“I don’t,” You answer, “I don’t mind at all.”

Bucky looks at you for a moment, his deep ocean blue eyes just _pouring_ into yours, before he leans in and kisses you with soft urgency. His hand grips your waist hard. You pull back,

 “Don’t hold back, Bucky. I’m all yours,” You tell him as you breathe out, your lips almost chasing his to meet again, but this time Bucky pulls back and sits up. He looks away from you, and you’re confused as hell, to put it simply. 

“Don’t say that,” Bucky whispers.

“Don’t say what?” You question simply, “That I’m all yours? Because it’s true, Bucky. I’m yours.”

He looks at you, and you swear his blue eyes look glassy. You move closer to him and rest your hand on his shoulder.

“You should be scared of me,” Bucky states.

“Tell me why,” You challenge him.

He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I almost killed a man in front of you because I wanted to. I’m not only America’s Most Wanted Person but the _World’s_.”

“And yet, I’m still here with you, letting you kiss me and touch me and hold me because I _want you to_ , Bucky. I am yours, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead he just looks at you, conveying so many emotions at once in his eyes that you don’t even bother to distinguish them. You just hope that he accepts this, accepts what you’re trying to give him, without feeling guilty. That part may take a while, but he wraps you in his arms and pulls you against him again, and you know at least it helps in the moment.

His nose presses to your cheek as he brushes his lips against yours, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. You’re full of affection and concern as you bring a hand to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles, “I didn’t mean to pull away like that. It’s just hard.”

“I know,” You tell him, “You don’t have to hold back with me, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” Bucky breathes against your neck. You feel him kiss a sensitive spot right where your neck dips to your shoulder and you shudder against him.

“So don’t.”

Bucky swiftly lifts you into his lap as you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms finding their place around his neck. You smile at him and he returns it softly.

“I won’t anymore,” Bucky whispers. You lean in and kiss him softly as he moves the two of you back to where you both were before Bucky let his fears get the best of him. He sighs into your touch and his hands are oh so gentle on your waist.

He remembers feeling so lonely. So cold. And darkness had consumed every part of him. But you, his light, shone the way to something better. It was a start, he thought. Not a bad start at all.

You gently push him back on the bed, your hands touching his bare chest. He looks up at you for a moment with dreamy eyes as you settle just above the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

But it’s a sight he knows he can’t get used to.

Bucky pushes the thought away and looks up at you again. You’re only in a thin white tank top and light pink cheeky bottoms. Bucky smirks and pulls at the band, trying to not let your fingers distract him.

“I like this color,” Bucky says.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers.

You suddenly feel a little shy. You’re sure that your cheeks flush to the same color as your bottoms. You look away from him and try to hide the smile on your face, but Bucky knows better. You look back at him and meet his ocean blue eyes and find that they look playful along with the smirk that sits on his lips.

Bucky twists the waistband of your underwear with his index finger and watches you carefully, looking for any sign that you want him to stop.

He doesn’t find one.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks you in a soft voice.

“I’m not going to stop you,” You reply, shivering slightly at his touch. He slips his index finger out from your bottoms and instead traces his fingers on the outside, close to your heat but _not nearly close enough_.

Your hands rest on his abdomen while you close your eyes. You feel his flesh fingers tease the opening of your underwear before he runs a finger from the outside up your slit. This delicious sensation causes you to sink lower and spread your legs wider. You sigh deeply when he does it again, with a little more pressure.

“Sit up a little, doll,” Bucky encourages softly. You put your weight on your knees, anticipating his next movement. When he slowly pushes the opening of your underwear to the side, you’re suddenly conscious of his metal hand resting on your waist, keeping you steady. Suddenly, his finger teases your labia before it finds your opening, slipping inside.

“Mm,” You hum as his finger reaches deeper at a dreadfully slow pace. Before you sink down for more pressure, he slips in another finger while his thumb finds your clit, both his touches and movements soft and _slow,_ like he’s trying to find your weak spots.

Which he is.

Bucky quickens his fingers in you as he grips your waist tighter with his metal hand. Your face contorts from the pleasure growing in the pit of your stomach as he moves faster, simultaneously rubbing your insides and pressing on your clit. You move against his fingers, your breath hitching in your throat.

Bucky watches as you open your mouth slightly; the sight of you getting off on his fingers is almost too much for _him_ but he slows his movements down and brings you both back.

“Look at me, doll,” Bucky whispers, glancing at your now hardened nipples visible through the thin material of your tank top. Your eyes open at this and you can barely concentrate on anything other than Bucky’s fingers and the knot you feel tightening in your stomach. Still, you’re able to look and meet Bucky’s eyes which still look dreamy, even behind your half closed lids. When he quickens his pace again you bite your lip. Bucky has this encouraging look on his face that you can’t seem to look away from as one more swipe deep inside against a delicious spot sends you over the edge.

“Fuck,” You slip out as your orgasm washes over you. Bucky helps you through it, steadying your body with his metal hand. His fingers slip out of you slowly as he brings you down to meet him in a deep kiss.

You’re shaking all over against him and Bucky wraps his arms around you, a bit confused. He can feel your heart pounding against his chest, soft pants hitting his neck.

“Doll, you’re shaking,” Bucky says, trying to meet your eyes. You look up at him and smile contently.

“No one has touched me like that in a very long time,” You say with a sigh against him.

Bucky’s heart quite literally breaks upon hearing this because he knows that it’s true in a way. And it only makes him want to make you feel good even more. His priority right now is you, as it has been this entire time with you.

Bucky pulls your face to look at him and his eyes don’t look as playful as they did just moments before. No, this time his blue eyes look dark, intense, passionate, serious. His lips crash to yours in a breathtaking kiss, one that leaves your head spinning when he pulls back. His stubble tickles your skin along the way.

You let him gently place you on your back as he hovers over you, looking at you now with a furrowed brow. You smooth it out with your thumb and kiss the corner of his mouth. Bucky pushes the hair out of your face and smiles before he dips down to kiss your jaw, then your neck, and then he’s pushing the strands of your tank top down as he kisses your shoulders, too.

Making it easier for him, you swiftly grab the bottom of your tank top and bring it over your head. Bucky takes it and discards it behind him. You laugh at this and he does, too.

“A little eager, are we?” You tease him.

“We are way past eager, doll,” Bucky replies with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that image of you.”

“You better not,” You say, a hint of sadness in your voice. Bucky catches it and kisses you again. His lips feel soft and his skin is warm and he pulls back, just centimeters away from your lips.

“I will never forget you. I will never forget this,” Bucky says like he is professing to something else other than what he speaks.

Bucky continues his descent from your neck to your jaw to your breasts, kissing each nipple softly before taking your right one into his mouth, sucking gently. You close your eyes and sigh at the sensation before he pulls back.

You spread your legs and wrap them around his waist, pulling his body even closer to yours. You feel his hardness against your heat and you both moan at the contact when you move against him. Bucky looks at you as he takes deep breaths, clearly trying to remain calm and in control.

“Are you sure you want this? ___, are you sure?” Bucky asks you just one more time.

“With all my heart, yes, Bucky.” You tell him again.

With one more kiss to your lips, you help Bucky slip out of his sweatpants and boxers with your feet. He kicks them off, the garments of clothing joining your tank top. Bucky reaches down and slides your underwear off.

Glancing down, you reach for Bucky’s cock and when you run your hand lightly over the length of his shaft, Bucky grunts softly. You grip his cock tighter and run your thumb over the tip. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his moans with kisses. The vibrations of the sounds he makes sends tingles down your side.

You give Bucky a few more pumps and his hips buck against you, the tip of his cock brushing against your slit. You both moan at the contact as you both take this as a sign that you are both ready.

You spread your legs and wrap them around Bucky’s waist. Bucky lifts you from the small of your back, bringing you up further on the bed. He rests his metal arm behind you as his flesh hand cups your cheek, his chocolate brown hair brushing on your face, his blue eyes pouring into yours.

He runs his cock up your wetness once before finding the entrance of your sex and pushing in slowly. You push your head back into the pillow as his size stretches you at first painfully, and then soon deliciously once he is fully in. You both take a moment to adjust before you move your hips, causing his cock to brush against you in a pleasurable way, your tight walls clenching around his cock. You feel full as Bucky stays still for a moment, taking a deep breath.

When he moves, it’s like stars are bursting right before your eyes. You have to close them at the overwhelming feeling when Bucky starts to move at a slow pace, his thrusts soft and long. Every time he pushes back in, he hits your sweet spot again, and you can’t help but hold his shoulders, pulling him close.

Bucky begins to move faster, but his thrusts are still long. He wants this to last for as long it can because deep down, he doesn’t know when he’ll get to be this intimate again with you. The thought strikes in his mind, and you seem to notice his slightly troubled expression because soon you’re taking his face in your hands.

“Look at me,” You whisper, “It’s me.”

Bucky nods softly and kisses your neck, muttering a groan against your skin as he thrusts hard and long. You urge him on as you press down even more into the mattress, running your fingers through his hair as you close your eyes, that familiar tightness in your stomach just on the verge of letting loose.

Bucky is completely overwhelmed by this, by everything, by you. It’s not just how soft your skin feels, how your breathy sighs and moans sound like music to his ears, or the way you perfectly fit and clench around his cock, it’s not just all of this–it’s you.

It’s always been you.

His heart feels full. Bucky feels full of something that he thought he would never be able to feel again. He pulls back from your neck and looks at you.

“___,” Bucky whispers, “Please, I want to see you.” His words come out between grunts, soft groans. You look at him and he catches your lips in an open kiss. He wants to see you because he wants to remember how you look, how you feel, everything about _you_.

“Bucky, I’m so–oh, fuck,” You come undone beneath Bucky, not being able to keep your eyes on him as you shut them and let out a moan of his name.

When he comes undone shortly after you, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, a place where he has come to feel completely safe. He says your name against your skin as he pulls out of you, spilling on your stomach.

Bucky’s muscles relax as he takes a long breath and settles on top of you, chests heaving against each other, warm breaths against each other’s necks. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair and he feels you kiss his temple. He pulls back to look at you and he’s sure that he sees an angel.

 You’re glowing, a blissful smile on your lips. You laugh and Bucky just looks at you with a smile on his face. You’re body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, as his is. His chest practically sticks to yours. His metal arm feels like a blessing against the heat of your body. 

“You’re amazing,” You whisper to him.

“No,” Bucky says, “You are.”

For a little bit, the two of you just lay there, entangled and attached to one another, before Bucky gets up (not without giving you a long kiss, though) and slips his boxers and sweatpants on. He goes to the bathroom to fetch a hand towel.

When he comes back he smiles a little and wipes you clean of your stomach. The room is silent, the soft hum of the AC filling the air. You watch him as he cleans you and you thank him softly when he’s done. He hands you your tank top and you reach across the floor to get your bag, looking for a new pair of underwear. Slipping on a black pair, you get under the covers and Bucky joins you, already pulling you with his strong arms against him.

You kiss his shoulder, the one where metal meets flesh, and kiss the scars that litter on the skin there. Bucky sighs and closes his eyes, focusing on your lips that trail kisses on his scars. You pull back and kiss his lips, a feather touch.

“I want you to know that this doesn’t feel temporary to me. It never has. I wish I could change our circumstances, but I can’t,” Bucky says as you pull back.

“It is what it is,” You sigh as Bucky finds your hand. You lace your fingers with his flesh one and look at him with a sad smile, “there’s nothing we can do, really. For now, at least. We both need to get our lives in order.”

“ _You_ do.”

“You do, too!” You argue gently, “Bucky, you still have a life. I’m sure that–I’m sure things will work out.”

“I’m a man on the run from the world,” Bucky says with a sigh, “there’s no working out for me.”

“I just…” you pull away from him in frustration, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. Bucky sees your struggle but takes your hand in his again, pulling you down to him.

“You’ve helped me so much,” Bucky tells you with conviction, “more than you know.” His voice is hushed.

You lean on your elbow and look down at him with a soft smile, “you, too, Bucky. You, too.”

He places his flesh hand on your cheek and caresses your skin with his thumb as his metal hand rests at the small of your back, his stormy blue eyes looking glassy again. You don’t stop the tears that form in your eyes and when he sees this, he kisses you deeply and holds you close to him for the rest of the night.

A ghost of a whisper that says “I love you” follows you into your slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there may be just one more chapter after this, and then an epilogue. Or two more. Probably one, though. I can't believe it!!! Thank you to all who have kept reading!!! And making my first fic on here so, so fun!


	14. Sail On Silver Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky are just one more bus ride away from the City of New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, it's the last chapter. Don't worry, an epilogue is in the works. I'm sorry it took so long. You know, I almost deleted the previous chapter because I really didn't want smut and I still don't know how I feel about it... but it's there. I hope you all like this one!

Bucky is the first to wake up. 

He has you wrapped in his arms with no blanket covering either of you. The heat of his body was enough, he remembers you saying last night. You had fallen asleep quickly to a movie Bucky found whilst flipping through the channels. Shortly after with no interest in the movie, Bucky turned the TV off and fell asleep to the sound of your heart.

Now, he’s awake, and he doesn’t want to ever let you go.

When it comes down to it, he knows he has to. Bucky knew he could never actually have you. Falling in love was not something he expected to do while on the run from the world. And just because yes, _he loves you,_ that doesn’t mean a thing. You are on a new path now, a path that Bucky doesn’t see himself in. If he was meant to be in your life it was only for a small, fraction of it.

He’s grateful for the time he had with you. Bucky chuckles at the ridiculous thought, like he’s mourning an actual person.

But he is mourning _something_. Mourning what could have been if _all_ circumstances were different. Mourning if everything was just _different_.

Things are how they are. It is what it is.

That’s what you said to him just two nights ago, and he doesn’t think he’ll forget it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget any of this. He certainly hopes not.

Bucky shifts a little bit, his mind wandering off to his past. He doesn't know where he’ll be going after Manhattan, but he does know it’s overseas. Maybe to his roots– _Romania_. Once he figures out a fake passport and what not, that’s where his next destination will be.

“Bucky,” You whisper his name, “why’re you always up so early?”

He chucks softly, kissing your forehead, “I like the early morning. There’s something about it.”

“Hmm,” You say softly, “Me too. Now that I get to share them with you.”

Bucky smiles faintly, and then his brow furrows, “Can you tell me something?”

Your eyes are still closed as you nod, “yes, like what?”

“Tell me about your family,” Bucky softly requests.

“My family?” You question, “I have a little sister, Maisie. She’d be… she’d be ten by now. She’s got the same color hair as me, but she’s a whole lot cuter. She’d love you, I think,” You tell Bucky, your soft breath hitting his bare chest.

“Hmm,” Bucky hums, remembering a little girl from his past with brown hair and blue eyes like his.

“And my mom, she’s the most hardworking person I know. Selfless, caring, loving. I miss her,” You say, and Bucky nods, holding you tighter. “I never knew my dad. It was always just me, my mom, and Maisie.”

“It’ll be that again soon,” Bucky tells you.

“Hmm… yeah. Yeah, it will.”

* * *

Gazing out the diner’s window you have a faint smile on your face, one that you hadn’t noticed until Bucky, sitting across from you in the booth, points it out.

“What are you looking at?” Bucky asks you. You turn to look at him and shrug,

“Nothing, really. It’s just a nice morning.”

It’s nearly six in the morning and you and Bucky had a seven o’clock bus to catch. The last bus to catch before entering Manhattan, New York City.

Bucky nods and agrees silently. He hadn’t really noticed anything that nice about the morning, but looking out the window and with your words in his mind, he pays more attention to the details he might have missed.

The sky is a dusky blue, with slivers of orange peeking out amongst it. Hmm. He hadn’t noticed that before. The sky was slowly but surely becoming lighter, daytime just minutes away. The view from outside the diner wasn’t much except for the sky. Bucky had been paying more attention to inside.

Red leather booth seats. Tan linoleum table top. Circular lamps that hang from the ceiling over each booth in the diner. A song is playing in the background, one that Bucky doesn’t know. But he likes it. For a moment his eyes flicker towards you–you might know the song.

"Do you know what song is playing?” Bucky asks quietly. You tilt your head a little bit, listening closely to the tune that floats out of the speakers, and lean in towards the table. Bucky mirrors your movements and leans in as well.

You squint a little and smile in recognition.

“ _Coney Island Baby_. Lou Reed,” You say, slightly swaying your head to the tune. It’s a song you haven’t heard in what feels like _ages_. It sort of feels like a hug from an old friend. “Do you like it?” You ask Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, “I like it.”

You smile at him and lay your hand open across the table. Bucky takes it and laces his fingers through yours.

As the rest of the song plays, you and Bucky are silent at the table. You both watch the sun slowly rise together over two cups of coffee.

It’s funny, Bucky thinks. Time. His time with you is running out, but your time back in Manhattan would be starting again. And his time out on the run will start again. And his time with you will be over.

Bucky finishes his coffee and sets the mug down on the table.

“Do you want another?” You ask him softly.

 _No_ , he thinks. He really doesn’t. But he says yes anyways.

* * *

It’s a smaller bus, the one you and Bucky board. Fewer people are on it as well, though you don’t mind at all.

Immediately drawn to the farthest window seat in the back, you slide in the seat as Bucky sits down next to you. You watch as he scans the bus before he returns his attention to you. You give him a warm smile and he responds with one himself, before he looks down and away from you.

There’s nothing you want more than for Bucky to come with you to Manhattan. You wish things were easier for that to be possible. But you suppose things happen for a reason, even if the thing that happens hurts like hell. Maybe you and Bucky just weren’t meant to be. But why did the thought of that feel like something was being ripped out of your body?

Why did thinking about never seeing Bucky again feel like someone was clawing at your heart? Literally pulling it apart piece by piece so much that it could never be put back together again. Or maybe you were just being dramatic.

No, you weren’t, you think.

You just feel like there’s more to you and Bucky’s story. It can’t end here, so short and so abrupt.It didn’t feel right.

You want to say something to Bucky, to make him and yourself feel better, but you can’t bring yourself to say the right words. So instead, you hold Bucky’s flesh hand, and rest your head on his shoulder as the wheels of the bus set in motion.

* * *

“Hey. We’re here,” Bucky’s soft voice wakes you up from what feels like a brief nap. The words set off an alarm in you as you move your tired eyes to look out the window.

You gasp at the sight in awe.

Manhattan’s skyline reflects in your eyes and your mouth drops a little at the beauty of it. The sun is shining behind the buildings that fill your vision. This is a sight that’s a part of your childhood, a sight you haven’t seen in a long time.

It’s a sight Bucky hasn’t seen in a while, either, you think. You look at him and grab his hand with a smile as you look back out the window.

Before you even realize it, tears are welling in your eyes, the sound of the tires of the bus rolling on the pavement like music to your ears. The closer the island of Manhattan gets, the more your heart picks up in anticipation. But you have to remember why you’re sitting in this bus in the first place.

It’s because of him.

You look at Bucky again and he’s already looking at you and you’re so caught up in so many feelings that you don’t know what to do except kiss him. You kiss him softly on his lips and you can tell he doesn’t expect this but soon enough he’s pressing his lips to yours.

You feel your tears brush on his face and he holds you tight against him. When you pull back you have a smile on your face, shining so bright it doesn’t even compare to the sun, Bucky thinks.

You’re happy, and that’s all Bucky needs.

* * *

It’s a strange feeling getting off the bus to the Port Authority. A very strange feeling. It almost doesn’t seem real to you, that you are actually here in New York. Manhattan. _Home_.

 _What next?_ You think to yourself. You look at Bucky who is holding your duffle bag so graciously and you take it from him, holding it tight to your chest to keep from crying. Bucky nods his head forward,

“Lead the way, doll,” Bucky smiles a bittersweet grin underneath his cap. You hold out your hand for him to take and he does so, although you can’t help but notice his slight hesitation.

Walking out to the streets of Manhattan, you immediately recognize that you are on the West Side. You weren’t sure if you’re family was still downtown, but you went with your gut and decided to follow suit. Around the two of you is a bustling city with people walking in different directions. A car honks in the distance and doors of cars slam here and there. The crisp air of the west side hugs you roughly.

You begin to walk, with Bucky’s hand still in yours, but he pulls you to face him as he stands in place.

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice cracks, “This is where you _lead the way_ ,” He says, and you’re confused at first but it slowly dawns on you what he is trying to say. You bite your lip and shake your head,

“No, Bucky, you can come with me. I can–I can show you where I lived. You can meet my–“ But your voice falters, as these are all false hopes, false realities, none of this can happen. And it hurts that you can’t bring Bucky into your own safety as he has with you. But still, you insist, because you’ve never been known to back down from fighting.

“Bucky, can’t you just stay with me? If they’re still where they are, we have an extra room…” You say, your voice choking in your throat. A breeze passes by and you shiver as your warm tears turn cold against your skin.

“___, _please_ ,” And he’s pleading you desperately, his hand locked tight around yours and his voice a harsh whisper, “Don’t make this hard.” His ocean blue eyes are shiny with tears. You can’t look at him any longer or else you fall to your own break down.

“I’m just trying to make it–to make it,” You can’t even get all the words out before a choked sob escapes from your throat. You drop your duffle bag to the pavement and you’re muttering _Bucky_ as he pulls you tight against his chest, holding you close. Bucky buries his head in the crook of your neck and you grip his jacket in your hands.

For a moment, Bucky lets himself hold you for what may be the last time. He holds onto you like you’re already a memory, and that just scares the hell out of him. He doesn’t want you to cry, he doesn’t want to make this hard for you like it is for him, so Bucky lets go of you and looks you in the eyes, forcing a smile.

“You’re here. Okay? You’re here. You’ve got this. You’ve got your sister, your mom… your life. It’s all yours. It always has been,” Bucky tells you with a smile as a tear rolls down his cheek. Your teary eyes are looking into his and you almost wipe his away, but you don’t.

“I don’t know what to say, Bucky,” You whisper, “I’m going to miss you _so much_.”

Bucky swallows hard, “I’m going to miss you, too. You have–you have no idea.”

“Will you be okay?” You ask him.

Bucky doesn’t know. He simply doesn’t know but he does know that you want him to say yes, so he does.

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky tells you as he wipes away a tear on your cheek, “I will.”

You nod and bend to pick up your duffle bag, hoisting the strap over your shoulders, your other hand still in Bucky’s. You take a small step back, your arm spreading to keep hold of Bucky’s hand, and you know he’s not letting go any time soon. Still, walking backwards until you’re just too far, you let go of his hand. You let go of each other.

You see the small smile on his lips slowly fade beneath his cap. When his ocean blue eyes aren’t visible any longer, you turn around and face forward. You face the sea of people in Manhattan and make your way through them all, blending in with the traffic. One final look backwards because you can’t help yourself, you find that Bucky has already disappeared amongst them.

Your heart skips a beat but then you look forward again, making your way through the crowds of people.

You don’t look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this series!!!! Any feedback is appreciated :-) You've made my first real fic and my first time using Ao3 so fun :-) I can't wait to start my next series!!!


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are different these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this how epilogues work? WELL, this is how they work now! Just kidding. Final, final end of this series. Again, thank you so much to everyone who has read this! For the kudos, comments... thank you! And enjoy this last chapter :) 
> 
> I also had two one shots in mind, as a separate work but connected to this series about moments after Bucky and the Reader part ways: one in Reader's POV, the other Bucky's. Would you guys be interested in that? Let me know!

Nights like this you really do feel like a part of you is missing. You lay on your bed and stare at the moon in the sky shining a dim white light on your terrace, and for a moment you feel okay, because there is only one moon in the sky and only one moon to look at. One moon you know for sure only you and him can look at. Connect through. 

You think of the mysterious man you met at that diner, the one you would call James. And then Bucky. And then your lost love.

Sometimes you cry because you miss him so much, but not tonight. Instead, you simply breathe out your heartache and close your eyes.

 

* * *

_Reports on the scientific organization AIM are finally all through. AIM founder and CEO, Aldrich Killian, had a huge involvement with the most recent terrorist threat to America, The Mandarin. The Mandarin turned out to be a phony played by one Trevor Slattery. Tony Stark’s involvement with AIM dates back to 1999. Killian was out for revenge on Stark Industries and amongst the madness, died by his own creation of the Extremis. Other top employees of AIM, Maya Hansen and Nathaniel Graves, were found dead. Hansen was found murdered in Killian’s mansion in Los Angeles while Graves died of an overdose of a failed Extremis formula in Pennsylvania._

It’s an old newspaper from a year and a half ago that you came across in the archives. The words don’t haunt you anymore, they simply serve as a reminder to something of your past. There’s a faint smile on your lips and you feel the urge to pull at the collar of your shirt, but you don’t. Folding the old newspaper in half and putting it away, you lean your elbows on your desk and look out the window of your office in the Flatiron Building.

“___!” Your editor, J. Jonah Jameson shouts your name. His voice is loud but it’s homey in a strange way. “Where’s that article of yours?!” He asks with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. His bold eyes are wide and looking at you. You’re smiling.

You hold the final draft up in the air, “Over here, boss.”

“I want it up in my office in five minutes! No more fooling around, kid,” Jameson demands, but you can tell in his voice that he’s not entirely serious. He likes teasing you because he respects you. It was an odd way of showing respect for someone, but you didn’t mind one bit. Not at all, you think.

Looking outside the window of your office, in the distance you see a bright _A_ –The Avengers tower. A pang is sent to your heart as you draw your attention away from it, something you have been doing at least once a day ever since you got this job at The Daily Bugle.

It’s been a year and a half since you last saw Bucky Barnes. Not a day goes by where you don’t think of him.

Lately, it’s been hard to get him off your mind. In recent news, The Avengers were clashing with one another about the Sokovia Accords for the longest time. The nation was torn. The whole _world_ was torn. You? You knew where you stood–with Captain Steve Rogers. Because like him you too had faith in people.

And you knew who Bucky Barnes really was. He was not a killing machine, nor a threat, nor a burden to this world. He was a soft, gentle man–a little damaged–but nothing short of good.

But it seems like a lifetime since you last saw him, or maybe you just really miss him.

* * *

It’s the end of the day now and for once, instead of going straight home to your apartment, you end up going to an old diner you used to come to during your college days.

It’s nice to know that absolutely nothing has changed about it. Same booths, same old music playing in the background, same, same, same.

Though you _do_ feel different. You _are_ different.

That’s not such a bad thing.

You smile softly as you sip your coffee slowly, looking outside the diner window watching the people pass by. The neon lights of the sign that reads DINER reflects in the window and in that you see your own reflection. It’s soft. It’s warm and light and by God, you are such a different person now.

The sky is starting to darken a little bit and buildings are starting to light up in the gorgeous way that you are so familiar with. The Avengers _A_ turns on and you feel your smile grow just the slightest.

A floating figure passes by before your mind can even form a real image. And you don’t bother to look back to try to make sense of what you saw. You simply shrug it off and finish the rest of your coffee, letting the Simon & Garfunkel song in the diner play. And you listen.

After paying your bill you step outside the diner and breathe in the brisk air of fall in the city. Your favorite time of year. Wrapping your dark brown jacket closer around your frame, you squeeze yourself with your arms and shiver at the colder temperature.

You feel absolutely free.

And then you hear it.

“___?” A quiet, yet even voice murmurs beneath the shadows. You follow the sound of the soothing voice and look in its general direction before the floating figure you thought you saw before comes out of the darkness.

You almost think it’s your eyes playing tricks on you, the cruelest tricks of all but no–there are no tricks here. There are no anonymous floating figures, no thoughts you need to push away because _you’re never going to see him again,_ none of that.

None of that.

Because it’s him who stands in front of you. It’s him and he’s not in your dreams, your thoughts, your mind, no. It’s _him_ , in real life, in front of you.

It’s Bucky.

The first thing you notice is his hair. It looks shorter but in a way that he’s taken care of it and his scruff looks neat. He still holds that darkness but it’s not so heavy anymore. He’s different, too, you think.

And that’s not a bad thing at all.

And Bucky? He already has tears in his eyes, his voice choked up, his heart feeling like it will burst right out of his chest. He smiles, a real genuine one, and with a shaky voice says something.

“I hear this diner has amazing milkshakes. Are they?”

You laugh, or maybe you let out a cry, but you smile and cover your mouth as you let your own tears fall. You feel yourself walk into his warm embrace and when he finally has his arms around you, that familiar hold you’ve longed for the longest time, you reply.

“They are, Bucky,” You whisper and meet his stormy blue eyes, “They are.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also... WHO THE FUCK SAW INFINITY WAR. WHO. WHO. WHO. I AM... NOT OKAY... in the slightest... BUT! But. I am full of hope.


End file.
